


Wait for Something Better

by alsointogiraffe



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1D Smut Free Ficathon, Acephobia, Angst, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Drinking, Fluff, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, a LOT of internalized acephobia actually, there's also a scene that could very vaguely be interpreted as borderline dubcon (no sex though)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsointogiraffe/pseuds/alsointogiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry doesn't realize he's announced that he's asexual until he hears Louis ask, "Wait, what?"</em>
</p><p>There's a reason Harry doesn't drink much, and it might have to do with the fact that he always ends up blurting his secrets to people he barely knows. The fact that he proceeds to develop a crush on Louis? Well, he can't really blame the alcohol for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait for Something Better

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this happened. One minute I'm reading the 1D Smut Free Ficathon, the next minute I'm thinking to myself, "Oh my god, I'm asexual," and suddenly I've finished a 20,000 word story about asexuality.
> 
> This story is on the light end of the "angst" spectrum with a liberal dose of fluff. I want to emphasize that this story contains quite a bit of (internalized) acephobia. Also, while there is no sex in the story, there's an almost-sex scene early on that might come across as dub-con. If you're easily triggered by any of that, please take caution reading!
> 
> A couple more notes (possibly containing spoilers) at the end. Title is from "This Is Your Life" by The Killers.

“Keep it simple,” Niall advises, adjusting the collar on Harry’s shirt. He undoes the first few buttons, takes a step back, and nods in approval. “You want to seem interested, but you don’t want to seem obvious.”

Harry scoffs at how cliche Niall sounds right now, but he slouches his shoulders a little in an attempt to appear less tense. He’s going to his first party all semester and Niall is insisting on making sure he looks perfect. He doesn’t really like parties, but he let it slip early in the semester that he’s a virgin and Niall has insisted ever since that he help Harry find the right guy to “remedy that." (Niall always accompanies the statement with a wink and a punch in the shoulder that has likely left Harry with a permanent bruise).

Liam and Zayn are sitting on the couch while Niall finishes prepping Harry. Since they found out about Harry’s virginity, they’ve taken Niall’s side in a more understated way. Liam has consistently assured Harry that the first time won’t be as bad as he’s maybe expecting. Zayn always shrugs, says, “Just do what you’re comfortable with,” and focuses his attention back to texting Perrie.

“The guys are gonna be all over you,” Niall insists. He grabs Harry’s can of beer from the living room table and hands it to him. “Finish this before we head out. It’ll help with the nerves.” Harry’s already got a light buzz, but he knows Niall’s right, so he finishes the beer in a few gulps and sets the empty can on the table.

“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing his coat from the back of one of the chairs at the dining room table. 

“Finally,” Liam says as Harry buttons his coat.

Zayn puts his phone in his pocket as the four of them make their departure.

: :

“Nick has been eyeing you all night,” Niall says, nudging Harry with his elbow. Harry glances across the room and Nick immediately locks eyes with him. Noting Harry’s empty hands, he points at his beer bottle and cocks an eyebrow. It’s an invitation, Harry thinks: _Do you want one?_ Despite knowing better than to say yes, his body is beginning to feel loose and warm, enough that he surprises himself by nodding. As Nick walks toward the kitchen, Niall cackles and exclaims, “See! I told you! Now be safe. Liam snuck a condom into your jacket pocket before we left. Cheers!” He pats Harry on the back and walks away before Harry has the chance to process what just happened. He frowns and quickly checks his pockets, grimacing when, sure enough, the sharp edge of a condom wrapper grazes his skin. 

Harry is rolling his eyes when Nick approaches with a beer. He whips his hand out of his pocket. His cheeks are on fire as he thinks about the condom and Nick asks if everything is okay. Harry hates his friends. He smiles, says, “Everything’s just fine,” and takes the beer from Nick, politely thanking him and taking a sip. It’s a darker brew than he’s used to and he has to try not to grimace.

“I see you around campus all the time,” Nick says. “What year are you?”

“Sophomore,” Harry says. “Double major – English and psych. What about you?”

“Junior – communications. You glad to be done with finals?”

“Yeah, of course. I handed my last paper in today. Feels nice to be done." 

Nick is standing uncomfortably close to Harry, only reaffirming Niall’s suspicion that he’s been waiting a while for this moment. Harry can feel Nick’s eyes on his lips as he speaks and it becomes clear that he doesn’t actually care about what grade Harry’s in, or what he studies, or any of that. After a moment, Nick chuckles and says, “I agree. Cheers to being done, mmm?” His smile is handsome and genuine and Harry feels a little calmer as he clinks his bottle against Nick's and takes another sip of his beer.

Harry’s not stupid. He knows the script: basic smalltalk digresses into a loose conversation where Nick’s hints will get more obvious, the sudden announcement that _you have gorgeous eyes_ , or _you're so handsome_. Harry knows where this is supposed to go, but nothing about the moment feels right. His stomach is beginning to knot up and every time he sees Liam or Niall, he tries to shoot them a desperate look signaling _remove me from this situation before it escalates_. They misinterpret his expressions though, giving him thumbs up signs and winks and encouraging smiles.

He manages to corral Nick into the kitchen for a couple rounds of shots, enough to get them both properly drunk. Harry really doesn’t love the feeling of being drunk, but it's quieted his racing mind enough for him to realize that this is his chance to make out with a guy – and to maybe take it further. He's convinced himself he needs this, so when Nick kisses Harry out of nowhere, Harry kisses back. It’s quick and closed-lipped. Nick pulls away, his smile cheeky, and leans in for another.

The gentle kisses soon escalate into sloppy ones, and Nick’s tongue quickly finds its way into Harry’s mouth. They’re still in the kitchen, next to the empty shot glasses, and Harry does his very best to kiss back. Nick’s hands are navigating from Harry’s neck down to his waist drunkenly but knowledgeably, and Harry knows this isn’t Nick’s first time (or his second, or his third). Harry doesn’t want to come off as inexperienced, as the doe-eyed, innocent virgin, so he grabs Nick’s waist and tries to keep up with his fervor.

After a few minutes, Nick pulls away and Harry sighs in relief. People keep bumping into them and the moment feels far from intimate. Harry is prepared to slip away and find his friends. Before he has a chance, Nick grabs his hand and tugs at at it. “Follow me,” he tells Harry, pulling him toward the bathroom. The only clarity in the moment is the ache in Harry’s chest urging him to let go and walk away. He’s never made out with anyone – taking it all the way in one night is too much, too much, too much. He bites his lip.

He’s making a haphazard pros and cons list in his head – _do it, don’t do it, go, don’t go_ – and ultimately, Harry slides into the bathroom, which feels even stuffier and more confined than the actual party. Nick shuts the door behind him and it takes him two tries to lock it. When he does, he looks Harry up and down and sighs contentedly. They kiss for a few more minutes and as Harry mechanically kisses back, his initial anxiety fades into a strained boredom, the urge to be somewhere else, doing something more exciting. He shakes the feeling off – this is supposed to be fun and he’s supposed to be turned on. He sticks with his script and kisses back. He lets out a quiet, but theatrical moan and, a moment later, feels Nick’s hard-on pressing against his thigh.

Fuck.

“C’mon,” Nick grunts, pushing Harry against the bathroom counter.

Harry, feeling Nick’s dick against his leg, is brought back to reality and he suddenly feels frozen against the counter, unsure of how to calmly explain to Nick that he so terribly wants to stop what they're doing and return to the party. Nick is sucking a hickey into Harry’s neck and there’s a deep anxiety sizzling in Harry’s stomach that’s far from arousal. Nick’s hands are traveling down to the button on Harry’s jeans. He’s kissing Harry, sloppy as hell, and it’s as Nick undoes the button, pulls down the zipper, and slips a hand down Harry’s jeans that Harry pushes him away.

“No,” he says. “No, no, stop.” Nick steps back, confused. Harry didn’t think Nick would actually listen and he doesn't know what to say next. He steps away from the counter to head toward the door, but Nick steps in front of it and puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“What? Why?” he purrs – or at least attempts to purr. Harry thinks that whatever sexy undertones Nick is going for are drowned out by how sloshed he sounds.

Nick reeks of alcohol and Harry, though far from sober, feels so uncomfortable that, in a desperate attempt to get Nick away from him, announces, “I think I’m going to throw up. Get out.”

Nick’s face drops, but he quickly mutters, “Fuck, yeah, okay,” and slips out the door. Harry locks it as soon as it shuts and immediately sits down on the floor. He pulls his knees up to his chest and takes deep steady breaths, feeling deeply relieved knowing Nick is gone. He’d taken things too far too quickly – clearly, he wasn’t ready for sex just yet. He stays on the floor for a couple more minutes, until he feels his heartbeat lower and hears someone pounding on the door, loudly telling him to hurry up.

Quickly, Harry stands, takes a piss, and flushes. He stares at his reflection for a moment and mouths to himself, “Not the right time.” He takes one more deep breath and heads outside, apologizing to the growing line outside the bathroom.

It’s as he’s weaving through the crowd, trying to find Liam or Niall, that Harry bumps into Louis, the person whose party he’s at. It's hard to tell if he's drunk or not - if he is, he must carry himself well. He looks at Harry and grins. 

"Harry! How's it going?" he exclaims, throwing him into a hug. "Didn't think you'd make it tonight. Happy to have you here." He pulls away from Harry, looks him over, and frowns. "What's wrong?"

"What?" Harry asks, embarrassed that his poker face wasn't as sturdy as he'd hoped. "Nothing. I, ah–I was actually headed out. Just trying to find Liam and Niall."

"You're _leaving_?" Louis looks Harry dead in the eyes, shakes his head, and makes a tsk sound. "Can't have that. It's barely midnight and I've barely even seen you since we took Finny's class last semester. We've got to catch up." Louis is the only person that ever got away with calling professor Finnegan _Finny_. Harry wants to laugh, but his stomach is still in knots. While he was lying to Nick when he said he had to puke, he's beginning to wonder if that won't become a reality. He just wants to leave, to decompress and process everything that's happened. Louis seems to catch on, because his face drops and he says, "Y'know, I'll bet you my laundry is done. Want to come with me to grab it?"

"Your _laundry_?" Harry asks. It's the worst lie he's ever heard. Louis nods genuinely. 

"Gonna be traveling home this weekend and mum hates it when I bring all my dirty laundry for her to wash." He quickly grabs his beer from the kitchen counter and tells Harry, "C'mon."

Harry follows Louis out of the flat and asks, "Won't people realize you're leaving your own party? And be mad?"

Louis shrugs. "Don't care, really. The roomie is there in case anything disastrous happens. Besides, people know I have a habit of stepping out. Y'know, a bit like you and Nick back there, eh?" He nudges Harry and winks. Harry swallows the lump in his throat and laughs dryly. 

"Ha, yeah," he says. 

Louis's demeanor shifts once again, recognizing Harry's discomfort. He furrows his brows and says, no longer sounding playful, "Here we are." He opens the door to the laundry room and lets Harry walk in first. When they get inside, Harry takes a seat on a counter across from the washing machines. Louis sits on one of the empty washers and stares at Harry long and hard before he asks, "So what's up?"

Harry looks up from the ground. He's drunk and anxious and he knows he'd feel a thousand times better if he told Louis everything – about Nick and how much he seems to hate making out and how he gets a knot in his stomach every time someone pushes him to score. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue, but his eyes are stinging and he respects Louis too much to give him an opportunity to judge him. Harry gets enough of that from Liam and Niall – and even Zayn, occasionally. He swallows hard and says, "Nothing, really. I just–dunno. Long night, I guess." Louis is looking at Harry expectantly. Harry complies. He selects his words carefully as he admits, "Nick was sloppy. And he smelled a bit odd. I don't think I fancy him?" His hand subconsciously grazes his new hickey as he speaks. 

Louis seems to understand. He smiles sympathetically. "That's okay. No obligation to like everybody you shag."

"We didn't shag," Harry blurts before he can stop himself. Louis raises a brow and Harry adds, "Sorry. That’s how rumors get started."

Louis chuckles lightly. His smile is relaxed and his cheeks are a rosy pink. He hiccups once – he _must_ be drunk – and he says, "Well, that's okay, too. Probably for the better. Nick's a little skeevy." 

"A little, yeah." The statement makes Harry feel even worse. _Skeevy_. He doesn’t want to be known as the kid who hooked up with the skeevy asshole at That Party. But he doesn’t want to be the innocent kid either. It's a catch-22 that makes his skin crawl. He's still itching to leave, to go home and shower off the night's events. His mouth is still a little numb, though, and his eyes are getting heavy. He also never gets to see Louis, who seems to be going out of his way to keep Harry company. "Anyway," Harry says. 

"Anyway," Louis repeats, sipping his beer. "Tell me how your semester's been. I heard from Niall that the English course the two of you took was a royal pain in the ass."

“Oh, it was terrible. The prof didn’t give us a prompt for the final paper. I wrote about how much I hated the last book he had us read. I think Niall wrote about beer.” Louis cracks up and Harry cracks a smile. 

They get into a conversation about school that trails into a conversation about their personal lives. Harry is selective about what he reveals, but he manages to keep the spotlight on Louis. He’s interrogative and Louis carries himself with the kind of confidence that comes with a backstory. “You seem to be good at just about everything,” Harry points out. “Where did that come from?”

“Mmm, competitive by nature,” Louis reveals. “Didn’t have a lot growing up. I wanted to show my friends I had more than I really did, and I wanted my mum and stepdad to know I was grateful for what I had.”

Harry pokes and prods for detail and Louis runs with it, joking at one point, “Really getting into the personal stuff, hmm?” Harry learns about the gritty details of his mom’s divorces and how he took a gap year before coming to college to try to earn some money for his family. Harry is enthralled. He feels at ease for the first time all night.

Harry’s so wrapped up in what Louis’s saying that he’s surprised when, as Louis gets into his college career, he declares, “and blah, blah, blah. And here we are tonight. Now let’s hear yours.”

“My what?” 

“Your life story.”

“Don’t we want to get back to the party?” Harry asks. He realizes it’s getting late and he knows that Louis’s friends must be wondering where he is, if the constant buzzes coming from his phone are any indicator. Louis rolls his eyes and Harry says, “What? It’s a genuine question.” 

“You’re deflecting! I asked to hear your life story. The party can wait.”

“Uh,” Harry says.

“Uh? That's all you're gonna give me? I just poured my heart out to you! You know I was a cheerleader in high school! About all the girls I kissed back in grade school when I was convinced I was straight! You have prime blackmail opportunity. I’ll be damned if I don’t even the playing field.” He finishes the last of his beer and sets the bottle down on the washer next to him. “Let’s hear it. How did Harry Styles end up here tonight?”

Harry, much to his chagrin, ends up giving a candid account of his life that reciprocates Louis’s earnestness. He talks about his own parents’ divorce, about his sister, about his introversion and how parties aren’t his scene, how Nick was his chance to prove to his friends that he can let loose like a real-deal college student.

Louis is surprisingly nonjudgmental; their conversation feels so natural that Harry wonders why they haven’t talked sooner. Their conversation fades away as their eyelids grow heavier and when Harry looks at the time on his phone, he gapes. 

“What?” Louis asks.

“‘s four in the morning,” Harry says. He clears all of the notifications on his phone, which consist primarily of obscene combinations of emojis from Niall, a concise _we’re headed out get home safe_ from Liam and, from Zayn, a chipper _congrats! ;)_ He briefly wonders how Zayn already knows about his hookup before he announces, “I should get home.”

“What? Dude, no. It’s super late, and you look exhausted. You should stay the night.”

Harry objects. “I couldn’t–”

“Impose? You’re not. I’m sure everyone will be passed out in the living room, but you’ve lucked out. I’ve got the master bedroom and a spare futon you can crash on.”

Harry is too tired to argue. “Okay,” he decides, following Louis back to his flat. Louis gets them both some water and he makes sure Harry has a mountain of pillows and more than enough blankets before they go to sleep.

Neither of them ever acknowledge the fact that Louis never picked up his alleged laundry.

: :

Harry wakes up early the next day. His head feels heavy, his mouth feels dry, and he feels like he’s overstayed his welcome. Louis is still asleep, so Harry quietly gets out of bed and heads to the living room. Most of the people who were passed out when they got in last night are still asleep and the flat is trashed. Harry stands by the bedroom door for a long moment and assesses the mess before he bites his lip and traverses the maze of people to get to the kitchen. He digs around for a garbage bag and quietly picks up the scattered red solo cups and empty bottles and cans. Returning to the kitchen, he rinses all the empty shot glasses in the sink and quickly wipes the kitchen counters down. 

He takes the trash bag out with him and gets a bit lost trying to find the garbage chute. He eventually does, and as he makes his way down the stairs to the main entrance, he checks his phone. He sends a group message to Niall, Liam, and Zayn declaring _you guys are the worst_. Given how early it is, he doesn’t expect an immediate reply, so he puts his phone back in his pocket and returns to his flat so he can make a quick breakfast and fall back asleep.

When he wakes up again, Niall has responded, announcing that he’s coming over at two to hear the gritty details. Liam has replied too, announcing _ill be there at 2:30 but dont start without me_. Harry replies _you guys???_. The only response he gets is from Zayn, ten minutes later: _i’ll be there at 3 i want too hear too don’t tell w/o me_.

It’s only noon and Harry feels like he’s buzzing from his head to his toes, a combination of his usual post-drinking jitters with a dash of anxiety over the night before. He finds relief in cleaning, so he takes to straightening up his flat top to bottom. Living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. His roommate isn’t home, so he plays his music loud and makes sure everything is spotless. When he’s done, he shuffles around the flat, trying to decide what to do next. He starts pulling ingredients from the kitchen cabinets, flour and sugar and cocoa and baking powder. He preheats the oven and whips up some brownie batter. He throws it in the oven, sets a timer, and sits down on the couch.

He’s being impatient. He shuts his music off and puts the TV on, but he can’t find anything on that will capture his attention. He throws on an episode of _CSI_ and grabs his laptop. He stares at his internet browser blankly for a moment before he opens up Facebook. He’s inundated with photos from the night before. Mostly it’s pictures of the university’s popular crowd, but he realizes he can be seen the background in one of them, right after Nick first approached him. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to make him close Facebook. 

He opens up Google. He’s got a one-track mind that’s been obsessively mulling over the same worries again and again since the night before. Harry has realized that, skeevy or not, Nick wasn’t the issue. It’s Harry's _reaction_ to the whole situation that’s causing his anxiety. He's assumed he must be a late bloomer, but he always figured that by 19 he'd have a boyfriend, or at least a desire to casually hook up like most of his single friends are doing. Though he didn't expect to fall in love with Nick in the bathroom at a house party, he expected an excited, sizzling feeling in his stomach - not dread. He doesn't understand how fireworks didn't go off, how he didn't feel like he was in a moment of hasty ecstasy, and how he felt literally no desire to actually fuck Nick. It took years of self-discovery to realize he was gay, and now he wonders what's missing. 

He keeps thinking to himself _next time_ , that he just hasn't found the right guy yet. Deep down, he wonders what's going to make next time so different. The thought of doing anything sober makes him squirm, and he's seen how disastrous a drunk escapade proved to be. He wonders where this aversion is coming from, why he seems so hesitant to take things further than kissing. 

He tunes back into his computer screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. His heart is suddenly pounding, but it doesn’t stop him from slowly entering his inquiry into Google: _not interested in sex?_

The first few results are useless, articles about losing your sexual desire and how to please your spouse and ads asking _Do you suffer from erectile dysfunction?_ “No," Harry scoffs. He finds himself ruling out a checklist of symptoms: he’s not anemic, depressed, diabetic, alcoholic, on medications, or suffering from PTSD. There's no apparent medical or psychological explanation for this aversion, but Harry feels compelled to keep skimming search results with the desperate hope that he finds a logical explanation. 

The word _asexual_ is buried in an article further down on the first page of results. He reads the definition: _a person who does not experience sexual attraction_. He quickly closes the page and shuts his laptop. He closes his eyes. 

Absolutely not. 

The timer to the oven goes off – it's serendipity, Harry thinks. He grabs the brownies from the oven, shuts the oven off, immediately eats one, and then pulls out a bowl, gets a scoop of ice cream, and adds another brownie to it. He starts watching TV again and it's like all the sex references have become glaringly obvious – the victim died following a one night stand and the sexual tension between two of the detectives is obnoxious. Harry huffs and throws on Nickelodeon. 

Niall shows up after an episode of _SpongeBob_. He arrives right as the next episode is coming on. He's cheery as hell, singing the theme song loudly as he enters the flat and goes straight to the kitchen to help himself to a brownie. "Still wurm. Ohm mm gofd," he says with his mouth full. He swallows and declares, "God bless you, Harry Styles." 

Harry thinks Niall may melt into the floor when he grabs the ice cream from the freezer. Once Niall has his food, and once Harry has scooped himself another generous serving, Niall joins him in the living room and they watch the next episode of _SpongeBob_ attentively, laughing hard at all the jokes. Niall has no reservations cuddling into Harry's side and Harry is indescribably thankful. Niall is warm and Harry had no idea he'd so badly been craving physical affection since the night before. He leans into Niall, making horrible sea puns during the commercial breaks. Niall rolls his eyes at first, but by the third can't stifle his laughter any longer. 

"We should dolphinitely watch the next episode," Harry deadpans as the credits roll. Niall punches him in the arm.

"Christ, these have gone from bad to worse."

"Water you talking about? These are fantastic."

"Don't you mean _fintastic_?"

"You're getting the hang of it."

"You're dead to me, Styles." 

As Harry tries to conjure up another pun without turning to Google for help, the flat’s buzzer goes off; it's Liam, Harry figures. Niall leaps up to let him in. Harry's side suddenly feels empty and cold, but he brushes it off because he's grateful he doesn't have to stand. What's left of his ice cream has virtually melted at this point, but it doesn't stop him from having another soupy spoonful as Niall lets Liam in. 

" _SpongeBob_?" Liam asks as Niall shuts the door and grabs Liam's hand, dragging him into the kitchen. He gets distracted by the brownies and doesn't put up a fuss when no one changes the channel. He doesn't laugh along like Harry and Niall do, but his eyes crinkle at some of the jokes and he sounds a little too eager when he asks, “Wait. Is this a marathon?”

Zayn shows up in the middle of their third episode and Niall is adamant that they finish it before they discuss last night's events. Harry freezes for a moment. He'd forgotten that all of this was about Nick. 

He crosses his arms, turning in on himself. He shifts his focus to Zayn, who looks incredibly hungover. He's too stubborn to ever admit it, but it doesn't stop Harry from telling him there's advil in his medicine cabinet. Zayn frowns, but he half-nods and goes to the bathroom to grab it. From there, he goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

“Did you guys eat half a pan of brownies?” he shouts from the kitchen. 

“Harry is stress eating!” Niall announces gleefully. Harry glares.

“Dear god...was it that horrible?” Zayn asks, returning to the living room. “Did you forget a rubber or something?" He sits down on Harry's loveseat, taking a slow sip of his water.

"Shhh," Niall says, pointing at the TV. "It's the episode where they start a band." Zayn rolls his eyes. 

“No. I had condoms covered,” Liam says. He turns toward Harry and asks, “Were the two of you both bottoms or something?”

“Definitely not. Everyone knows Nick’s a top,” Niall chimes in. With an exaggerated sigh, he shuts off the TV. “I’ll bet it was just sloppy. Right, Harry? Nick seemed _hammered_.” He gently pokes Harry's hickey, as though it serves as evidence of the fact. 

“Guys,” Harry starts. He stares at his shoes. “We didn’t have sex.” 

“What?” The three speak nearly in unison and Harry wants to hide. His cheeks are hot and he doesn’t know how to respond.

“He was all over you. I know he was drunk, but he ain’t bad looking, Harry,” Niall says.

“I know.”

“Not to mention that he was all over you,” Liam points out.

“I _know_ ,” Harry says. 

Zayn seems to be the only one picking up on Harry’s discomfort, because he says, sounding overtly casual, "I mean, whatever the reason, it’s not a big deal. Party hookups can be a little overrated.”

Harry looks over at Zayn, who’s shooting Niall and Liam a look, a _back me up_ kind of thing that Harry thinks he wasn’t supposed to see. Liam suddenly says, “Actually, it was probably for the better. He gets around enough that it wouldn’t surprise me to find out he’s got an STD or two.”

Niall says, “Yeah, and he could honestly benefit from having his ego knocked down a notch or twelve. He’s a cocky sonofabitch. I’ll bet you put him in his place.” He pats Harry's back a few times. Harry feels like he's sinking into the couch, desperately wishing he could end this conversation. 

Silence falls over the room and it hangs awkwardly until Liam asks, “So, if you broke things off with Nick that quickly, where did you end up for the rest of the night? We tried looking for you when we left, but we couldn't find you anywhere.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “I bumped into Louis as I was leaving the bathroom. We went to the laundry room and caught up for a bit, and I ended up crashing at his place.”

"The laundry room?" Niall asks. 

"Yeah. It was weird. We just talked for a while, nothing monumental."

Niall sounds intrigued as he prods for more detail. "How long did you talk?"

"Dunno. Went to bed around four, maybe." Harry tries to make the whole encounter sound casual, but still, the three other boys exchange a look that Harry can’t decipher. Cautiously, he asks, “What?” Zayn is shaking his head no, just a little, while Niall is trying not to grin. Liam’s got a poker face on that Harry can’t read. “ _What_?” he presses. 

“Louisfanciesyou,” Niall blurts. 

"Huh?" Harry’s arms are still crossed, but he leans forward, expecting Niall to elaborate.

"Harry, c'mon. Remember that class you took with him freshman year? He looked for any excuse to copy his homework off you. And it was _his_ party last night, and he ditched it for hours to sit in the flat's laundry room with you? And talk? He wants in your pants, mate."

Harry frowns. "I think you're reading into this a bit too much." He doesn't mention how freaked he was at the time, how Louis probably hung around to make sure he was okay. Louis can be a party animal, but from what Harry can discern, he's also a decent person. 

Harry glances at Zayn and Liam, hoping one of them will disconfirm what Niall's saying. Instead, Liam shrugs and says, "Niall kinda has a point." 

Zayn nods and asks Harry, "D'you fancy him?"

Pursing his lips, Harry shrugs defensively. Does he want in Louis’s pants? Not really, no. Does he admire Louis’s personality and his eyes and does he perhaps want to see Louis again? Sure.

"I guess," he finally says. 

Zayn shrugs and says, "So maybe it's worth a shot."

“Who knows if I’ll even see him again,” Harry points out. “That’s the first party I’ve gone to in months.”

“So it’s an excuse to go to more,” Niall insists. Niall is always trying to get Harry involved in the party scene, despite knowing how much Harry loathes loud music and stuffy rooms.

“Maybe,” Harry says. “Like I said, I’m not gonna read too much into it.”

Niall looks a bit disappointed, but Zayn subtly mentions the fact that it’s going on four and the football match Niall’s been looking forward to is about to start. Niall freaks, blabbing about how he his friend has the biggest TV he’s ever seen and said he could come over to watch the game and it was good seeing you, Harry, but I need to run! He engulfs Harry in a hug, thanks him for the brownies, and nearly sprints out the door.

Liam leaves shortly after Niall to finish his homework. Zayn is half-asleep on the couch and Harry urges him to head home and take a nap to fight off his hangover. Zayn mumbles something about not being hungover, but he stands and admits a nap isn’t a bad idea.

Once they’re out the door, Harry grabs another brownie and sits back down with a heavy sigh, unsure of what to make of all this new information. 

: :

A few nights later, Harry tries to go to bed early, but he can’t fall asleep. It gets late. It’s past two in the morning and Harry is lying in bed, wide awake, skimming his Facebook newsfeed on his phone. He skims and skims, not paying attention to any of the posts on the screen. He stops very briefly to glance at some click-bait article that Niall posted on his wall, a list of the 20 cutest puppies ever or something. Niall’s online presence consists entirely of posting click-bait links and Onion articles that he takes way too seriously. It makes Harry smile, but it doesn’t really make him feel any better.

He’s felt on edge ever since the night of the party with Nick. He’s been trying not to focus on his anxiety, but it creeps up on him whenever he has too much time on his own. Distracting himself has only helped a little. He’s done three weeks worth of homework and has caught up on all of his favorite TV shows. He’s made, like, three shitty playlists with melodramatic indie songs that encapsulate his restlessness, and through these past few days, the entire time, he’s still felt a deep knot in his stomach.

It doesn’t take long before he suddenly closes Facebook and loads Google, fed up with the worries he’s been trying so hard to compartmentalize. He plugs his original inquiry into the search bar – _not interested in sex_. He tries to find the site with the stuff about asexuality. He reminds himself it’s for disconfirmation more than confirmation, to find proof that, despite its definition, the word “asexual” does not apply to him.

What he finds is the opposite. The descriptions he reads so readily match how he’s felt about his sexuality lately that he finds himself gaping. He skims the forums and learns about sexusal versus romantic orientations. He mouths the words to himself, _asexual_ and _homoromantic_. He thinks about the magnitude of this realization and the permanence of it – that he’ll never wake up one day experiencing sexual attraction. He reads a lot of articles and forum posts insisting that asexuals aren’t broken, but he still can’t help but wonder to himself if there isn’t a way to fix this. 

Harry doesn’t initially realize how his eyes are brimming with tears, but suddenly, the screen is too blurry to even read. Thank god he’s alone, he thinks to himself. He wipes his eyes furiously. Despite how his body is jittering, and despite the way he once again feels as though he could puke, he tries to convince himself that he’s overreacting.

Just because everything about asexuality applies to him doesn’t mean he’s a changed man. Just because his encounter with Nick made him want to disappear from the party and never return doesn’t mean he’s bound to a life of celibacy.

As he hooks his phone up to charge, shifts under his blankets, and closes his eyes, Harry weighs his options. He’s still mouthing the word to himself, asexual, asexual, asexual. He can’t picture himself saying it out loud, especially to another person. The thought alone sends a shiver down his spine, triggering goosebumps that make him curl up tighter under his blankets.

Having a word for what he’s feeling comes as a relief to Harry, even if he doesn’t know what it means for his future. He thinks back to the party with Nick and how disappointed Zayn, Liam, and Niall were when they found out Harry didn’t have sex with him. He pictures how confused and disappointed they’d be if he explained to them why he didn’t. It makes his chest clench up and he decides that, for now, no one needs to know.

He shifts under his blankets and closes his eyes and eventually, he falls asleep. 

: :

He wakes up with morning wood, which he takes care of mechanically before hopping out of bed, stretching, and jumping into a short but thorough workout routine. He indulges in a long shower before straightening up his bedroom and planting himself in the living room to do some homework. It’s as he’s in the middle of a statistics assignment that his phone chimes loudly. He startles a bit, then glances at the screen. The number is unfamiliar. The text message reads: _hey, you going to rob’s tonight???_

Initially tempted to send a screenshot in a group message to Zayn, Niall, and Liam asking who the number belongs to, he refrains, because he has a hunch that he decides to follow. If it _is_ Louis, then the only response he’ll get from the boys are winky emojis and choruses of “get it!!” He doesn't need that. 

It takes him twenty minutes to draft an adequate response, which ends up being a concise _maybe. i havent decided yet haha. btw, who is this?_

A response comes in five minutes later. Harry is sitting criss cross, obviously not staring at his phone. He’s got a pencil in one hand and a calculator in his other. His stats book may be shut at this point, but he figures it’s the thought that counts. When he hears his phone chime, he throws the pencil and calculator aside and grabs his phone from the coffee table. The response reads _its louis. zayn gave me your number. shouldve warned you sorry! but you should totally come. theres gonna be a keg and lots of vodka. whats better than free booze?_

Harry’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he gets confirmation that it’s Louis. He shouldn’t be this excited, but he considers how certain the boys were that Louis likes him. An invitation to another party certainly is helping their case. Harry bites his lip, uncertain that it even matters under the weight of his newly discovered asexuality. Still, he thinks back to his conversation with Louis, to Louis’s eyes and the trail of tattoos on his arms. He catches himself smiling. 

He rereads the text and now the only question is whether or not it’s worth going to another party to see Louis. He wishes he liked alcohol more, but he decides he’s willing to set aside his distaste for beer and cheap vodka to spend some time with Louis. He purses his lips and types his reply carefully, _well in that case i may have no choice but to go._

Louis replies almost immediately, a chipper _great! see you there :)_

Harry debates responding but decides against it, ultimately setting his phone down, putting his school materials away, and going to his closet to find something to wear. It’s as he’s trying on a fourth outfit that he takes his phone out and rereads the short conversation. He’s winding down from his initial excitement enough that he remembers to compose a thoughtful text to Zayn: _you gave him my number???_ followed by _fuck you_ followed by _that was mean. sorry. but seriously you gave him my number?_

Zayn, who usually takes hours and hours to respond to texts, replies only a few minutes later, and it’s with nothing other than a smiley face emoticon. Harry huffs, but he can’t stay mad. He takes off the peach shirt that he has on – it’s washing out his skin – and digs through his closet for a shirt a few shades darker.

: :

The boys gather at Liam’s that night for a pregame and everyone seems utterly shocked that Harry has decided to join them. He arrives without warning, but with a batch of jello shots that distracts everyone enough that he’s not immediately bombarded with questions about his presence. He sets the jello shots down on the dining room table and everyone begins to help themselves. He has two himself, and it’s as he’s downing his third that Zayn steps in from the back patio – he must have been out for a smoke – and gently nudges Harry with his elbow. 

“Do the others know why I’m here?” Harry asks, his voice low. He hands Zayn a red jello shot, knowing it’s the only flavor he can stomach. 

“Nah,” Zayn says. He grabs another jello shot from the table and offers it to Harry. It’s blue, Harry’s favorite. Grateful – and fully intending to get plastered tonight – Harry accepts it. Zayn clinks his against Harry’s and announces, “Cheers.” 

Harry is drunk before they even make it to the party, which is exactly his plan. Niall teases him on the walk over, but the reality is that, if he’s going to be talking to Louis, he wants to suppress the anxiety he usually experiences at parties. He knows it didn’t really work with Nick the last time, but he’s trying to convince himself that all he needs is practice. Or perhaps more alcohol. 

Frankly, he doesn’t know if Louis even has a crush on him, let alone if he’s planning on pulling any moves tonight. He doesn’t even have a _hunch_ ; he’s trusting the word of Niall, Liam, and Zayn, and he wonders briefly if that was a poor decision on his part. Either way, with his newfound understanding of the a-word, he feels a disconcerting compulsion to pass, to convince the world that he’s capable of seduction, to abandon the innocence that people so readily ascribe to him. If Louis provides that window, he’s not going to complain. 

So, he enters the party drunk. Drunk and confident. The confidence is fleeting, though, as he suddenly remembers why he hates parties as much as he does. He gets inside and everyone immediately branches off – Niall goes off to flirt right away, Zayn is drawn to the flat’s window, where a few of his friends are having cigarettes, and Liam seems to recognize about half the room and is promptly enveloped by a chorus of “Hey! Liam!” 

That leaves Harry, drunk and with his confidence rapidly falling and a sudden urge to be even drunker. He weaves his way through the party to the kitchen, where there’s a bottle of vodka on the counter up for grabs. He hates the burn of hard alcohol but it’s as fleeting as his confidence and much more effective than beer. He takes a double shot and decides to cut himself off for a while, grabbing a beer from the fridge that he intends to carry for show. He doesn’t want to be sloppy around Louis – not to mention that he’s still navigating his limits. 

He starts his night as a bona fide wallflower, finding a corner niche where he can pretend to be distracted by his phone. Two girls hit on him and he very gently tries to explain to them that he’s gay – not bi, no, sorry, it’s nothing personal, I swear, you’re lovely, it’s just, you know, I don’t really...fancy girls that way. The second girl – Allison – is from his stats class and she quickly abandons her efforts to flirt to talk to him about how _ridiculous_ their homework assignment is. 

“He assigns parts A, B, and C, and I figure I can bang it out tomorrow night, but I peeked at it today and holy _fucking_ shit. Part A alone has twelve subsections.” Harry laughs.

“Just wait ‘til you get to part B. You’ll be drawing histograms for hours.”

“Fuck,” Allison says. She takes a long drink of her beer. “I’m probably gonna skip on Monday.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Harry feels at ease talking to Allison, comforted by the understanding that their conversation isn’t going to lead to a makeout session or a quickie in the bathroom. 

He pushes aside his urge to overanalyze, which works until the front door opens and he spots Louis walking into the flat. He quickly shakes his head and diverts his attention back to Allison, who’s talking energetically about how much she hates their stat prof’s haircut. “Sorry–what was that?” he asks. She glances at the door and smiles knowingly. 

“Louis, eh?” she asks. Harry wonders how it is that everyone picks up so quickly on who has crushes on one another.

“He’s cute,” she says. Harry catches himself staring across the room again. Louis is talking to another guy and laughing loudly. He’s already got a beer and his smile is warm and Harry's grip on his own beer bottle tightens. He looks back at Allison, whose eyes are sparkling. She looks delighted. She pats Harry on the arm. “I’m gonna go grab another drink and see if I can’t figure out where the roomie wandered off to. Go talk to him! For what it’s worth, I heard a rumor that he fancies you, too.”

Harry starts to ask, “Why does everyone think...,” but Allison has already disappeared into the crowd. He’s left alone again, biting his lip, clutching his beer bottle, and trying to figure out what about this party qualifies as “fun.” 

: :

It’s around the time that Harry very regrettably finishes his beer that Louis finds him. “Harry!” he exclaims. He slings an arm around his shoulder, and Harry’s stomach sizzles in excitement. 

“Louis!” he declares, leaning into Louis’s touch. Harry is drunk, but, like, _drunk_ drunk. He thinks this must be what sloshed feels like, or shitfaced or plastered or hammered or whatever level of intoxication his friends typically brag about achieving on their average Friday night. It feels _weird_ – kind of good, but kind of like everything is spinning a little bit. Above all else, it feels _numbing_. Suppressing Harry’s internal monologue, it’s supplying him with the confidence he’d lost so early on in the night. 

That would explain why, when Louis asks, “How are you?”, Harry proudly declares, “Very, _very_ drunk.” Louis laughs and Harry beams but then Louis frowns, just a little. Harry makes an exaggerated pout and asks, “What?"

“Was gonna see if you wanted to take a shot with me, but if you’re _very_ drunk…”

“Not that drunk,” Harry corrects. Louis raises a brow. He seems suspicious. “Half a shot,” Harry offers.

“Okay. Half a shot.” 

The two head to the kitchen and Louis explains to Harry, “I’m fuckin’ pissed because I was supposed to be here an hour earlier but I got caught in a wild traffic jam coming back from work. I feel like I need to catch up.”

Harry nods. “Yes, yes you should.”

Harry takes his half of a shot and it goes down so smoothly that he begins to understand how easy it is for people to get blackout drunk; once the vodka starts tasting like water, it’s easier to keep pounding back shots. He watches as Louis takes a shot, and then one more. He makes a disgruntled face, but after a moment goes for a third.

“That should do it,” he decides. “Binge drinking at its finest.” He grabs his beer and, as a precaution, Harry fills himself a red solo cup with water. He may be very, very drunk, but he knows he’s dehydrated, which is a recipe for a hangover. He sips his water as he follows Louis into the living room where the music is playing so loudly that it’s almost impossible to carry a conversation. 

Harry knows that conversation isn’t really the _point_ of parties, so he lets it go and tries to match his dancing to the rhythm of the music. Louis is just standing there, watching Harry, and while there’s a hint of fondness in his expression, Harry tells him, “Come on!”

“Don’t dance, really,” Louis says, taking a swig of his beer. Harry rolls his eyes, grabs Louis’s hand and says, “Nonsense. You just have to move your body.” 

This time it’s Louis that rolls his eyes, but he begins to sway to the music enough that Harry feels satisfied. They dance for a minute or two but Harry doesn’t really like the song and finds himself getting bored, so he takes a step closer to Louis and asks loud enough that he can be heard over the music, “Why don’t we hang out more?”

“I don’t know!” Louis replies. He says something else, but Harry can’t hear him. 

“What?” 

“I–here,” Louis says. He starts walking away, but gestures for Harry to follow. They end up in the flat’s master bedroom. Louis closes the door behind him and says, “Parties are great when you’re in the mood to, well, party. Not so good for talking." He sits down on the bed and pats next to him. Harry sits down.

“Th’ music’s loud,” Harry states very factually as he tries to shake the ringing out of his ears.

Louis laughs. "Are you having fun, at least?" 

"I...dunno. Parties are kinda dumb."

"If you don't like parties, why did you come?" Harry prefers being the one asking all the questions, and it feels weird having the tables turned on him.

Even so, he candidly admits, "You're gonna think I'm so lame."

Louis doesn’t look convinced. "Bullshit. Try me."

Harry hesitates at first, but he says, quite frankly, "Peer pressure, I guess. Everyone loves to drink, so, you know. So do I."

"Bullshit," Louis repeats. Harry just sort of shrugs. He's not going to fight Louis on it. Louis tells him, "You can hang out with people sober. You don't have to do anything you don't want to." 

It sounds so cheesy, but Harry knows there’s some truth to it. Still, he tells Louis, trying hard not to sound rude, "I don't need a lecture. Drunk's not bad. 'S just...drunk. And I'm gonna feel yucky tomorrow.” He pauses and adds, “But the whole point of bein' drunk's to have fun and I doubt you're having fun lecturing me 'bout 'doing the right thing' or whatever. So 's okay if you want to head back to the party." He realizes he's rambling, so he adds, "I should probably go, anyway." He feels bad because there’s a palpable bitterness lacing his tone.

"Who said I'm not having fun?" Louis doesn’t sound pissed off or annoyed, but Harry doesn’t see how a party animal like Louis can prefer this conversation to an actual party. Harry shrugs. Louis says, "I'm having a good time. I like hanging out with you."

Harry sighs heavily and he's toying with one of the rings on his finger. He wonders if the tight feeling in his chest is some weird drunken compulsion pushing him to be earnest because without thinking twice, and without sounding like a nervous wreck, he asks Louis, "Do you have a crush on me?"

Louis chuckles, but his eyes shift downward. He seems a bit nervous, which looks out of place on him. Still, he doesn't hesitate to respond, "Yeah." Harry looks up from his hands just in time to watch Louis quirk a brow as his lips curl upward. "How'd you know?"

"Niall told me. And then Liam agreed. And then Zayn gave you my number and kept being wink-y about the whole thing. And then Allison told me."

Louis laughs. "Who the hell is Allison?"

"From my stats class. I think I'm the last person to find out, if I'm bein' honest." Harry can sense that Louis is hesitating now. He knows that the question must be on the tip of his tongue and Harry, like a drunken tease, asks with a chuckle, "You wanna know if I like you back, yeah?"

Louis nods, and while he looks eager, a hint of worry is clear in his expression. Harry is used to seeing Louis carry himself with an air of confidence that Harry can only describe as vaguely intimidating. Seeing Louis look suddenly vulnerable, like the wrong answer will genuinely upset him, makes Harry nervous. Any hint of playfulness drains from his demeanor as he considers all the ways in which he can respond.

What is he supposed to say? _I like you too_ is true, but dishonest. It's lying by omission, which is hardly fair to Louis. _I like you too, but not like that_ is confusing. It may leave Louis thinking Harry just wants to be friends. _I don't like you_. No. Harry's not a dick, and that statement is the furthest from the truth. The truth is right on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know how to put it into words.

Harry doesn't realize how much time he's spent mulling over the possible responses until he hears Louis telling him, "Oh God. Look, Harry, I'm really not trying to put you on the spot. Please don't feel obligated to tell me." Harry's head is swimming. Louis is staring at him with big eyes. "I'm serious," he says. 

He looks drunk and sincere and Harry doesn't realize he's announced, "I'm asexual," until he hears Louis ask, "Wait, what?"

Harry immediately stands up and he's almost at the bedroom door when Louis says, "Wait." Harry obliges. Slowly, and very cautiously, Louis says, "Okay. But that doesn't answer the question."

"I...," Harry says, unsure of how to respond. 

"I mean, you still don’t have to answer." Harry doesn't say anything, so Louis adds, "Here, come back over." Again, Harry obliges. Louis is still on the bed, but Harry sits down on the floor, a couple of feet away from him. He pulls his knees up to his chest, and he realizes he must look defensive. He doesn't mean to, especially since Louis doesn't seem utterly shocked or angered by Harry's announcement. Still, he feels on edge, like his entire body is tingling with the sensation of drunken regret. 

"My answer doesn't even matter," he finally says. "I'm not...like..."

"...interested in sex?"

"Yeah."

"That's alright. Does anyone else know?"

Harry evades the question. He says, more to himself than Louis, "It's all Nick Grimshaw's fault any of this even happened." He sounds angry and the statement is followed by a long pause. Harry's mind is racing, but his thoughts are all over the place and he can’t seem to construct a coherent sentence. Louis is sitting quietly but attentively, letting Harry piece himself together, but it just leaves Harry more frustrated. He expected Louis to be taken aback, even slightly jarred or confused. Louis is so calm that it ends up making Harry even more anxious.

He’s been honest about everything so far, so he decides he’ll stick with the truth. Rather abruptly, he tells Louis, "But yeah. I like you, too. Just not in a sex way. 's not personal." He hiccups. 

He goes to say something else, but his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen. It's a text from Liam - _u andlouis?? ;)_ Harry feels himself blushing, but it reminds him of his original intentions for the night, giving him an idea. He looks up at Louis. "Wait," he says. "Wait, wait."

"Waiting," Louis tells him. He sounds a bit amused, and it’s only then that Harry realizes how he’s been waiting patiently ever since Harry started freaking out. 

Harry flashes an apologetic smile, but it quickly turns devious as he states, "You like me.” 

Louis doesn’t hesitate to respond. "Yes."

"You _like_ me."

"Still yes."

"Can we have sex?" Louis's smile drops and his eyes go cartoonishly wide. 

" _What_?" 

"No, no, hear me out." Harry fumbles around his jacket pocket and pulls out the condom Liam had given him before the last party. "Liam gave me a condom. It wasn't meant for t'night, 'cause it was for Nick, but that didn't happen." He shakes his head. "Doesn’t matter. We could do it real quick. Nothing fancy. Whatever you want. Then I can tell the guys and they'll be off my case."

"Harry," Louis says. His expression is frozen. He looks bewildered, which compels Harry to further clarify.

"I don't mind. Really. I'm not _against_ sex. I’m just not interested in it. And you like me. And I like you. And we're drunk. And we're at a party. Sex is what drunk people who like each other do when they're at parties."

" _Harry_ ," Louis says. He slides off the bed so that he's on the floor, right across from Harry. He takes the condom from Harry's hand and stares at it for a moment before he tosses it at the garbage can across the room. He misses by a long shot, but he ignore the fact and says, "Harry, please don't ever, ever, _ever_ think you have to have sex if it's not something you're interested in. Especially if it's because your friends are pressuring you to."

"They're not pressuring me that much."

"Tell me again who gave you that condom." Harry sighs. He shifts his position so his legs are crossed. Louis looks sincere and Harry realizes there's truth to what he's saying. 

"Can I be honest?" he asks. Louis moves a little closer to Harry. 

"Duh," he says. 

The tone of the conversation suddenly shifts into something more serious. Harry looks down at his lap, and it takes him a long time before he starts talking. His breathing is measured and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what Louis would do if he stood up and bolted, like he’d done with Nick. He pushes the thought aside though, because Louis has given him nothing but genuine solicitude this entire time.

When Harry finally talks, he’s admitting things he’s barely ever admitted to himself, let alone another person. "I don't care what my friends think as much as I worry that no one will date me if they can't fuck me. Or if I can't bring myself to fuck them." He speaks quietly, but he doesn’t falter and he can sense Louis flinching at the words.

Harry doesn’t blame Louis, because out loud, the words sound painful to hear. He feels hollow after he says it, like the statement was affirmation of his indefinite loneliness. In fact, it’s not long before Harry’s eyes are watering and his bottom lip starts trembling uncontrollably and he knows he's about to start crying. Trying desperately to make a quick recovery, he adds “It’s not a big deal. Promise.” He tries desperately to keep it under control, but a sob hitches in his throat and _fuck_. Game over.

"Oh, _Harry_ ," Louis says. "Come here." He gestures for Harry to move next to him. Awkwardly, Harry scoots over so he’s sitting next to Louis, who wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into his chest. "I can understand why you might think all of that, but I can promise you it's not true. Maybe some people would be real assholes about it, but that just makes them assholes. Lots of people would date you without sex." 

Harry only briefly wonders if Louis is implying that he's one of those people. He pushes the thought aside, sniffles loudly and, in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, says, "So I guess this means no sex." 

He's drawing circles into Louis's thigh with his finger and he feels grateful when Louis tells him, "You guessed correctly."

"Good," he admits. Louis laughs and he hugs Harry tighter and they stay like that for a long time. 

Eventually, Harry stops crying, and he knows he’s a mess. His hair feels all messy and his nose is running and he’s got an awful headache. He knows he needs more water, but he’s reluctant to leave Louis’s grip. Feeling horribly embarrassed, he tells Louis, "You're the first person I've told. I'm sorry I'm freaking out like this."

"Please don't apologize," Louis says. "When I came out to my parents as gay, I was so convinced they'd disown me that when they told me they loved me no matter what, I accidentally told them to go fuck themselves. And then when I realized what they said, I started crying hysterically. I think the last time they saw me cry before that, I was three." It makes the two of them laugh. Harry hiccups again – he feels so mortified – but it just makes Louis chuckle and rub his shoulder some more.

Sensing the space for a segue, Harry pulls away from Louis and says, "It's getting late and I can already feel a hangover coming on. I should get home and get some water."

"Yeah, of course," Louis says. They both stand. Harry scurries to the master bathroom and grabs some toilet paper so he can blow his nose and fix his hair a bit. He returns with his arms crossed tight, still feeling shaky, a little off. Louis must sense this, because he adds, "If you want, you can crash at my place again. I'm not sure how far you live, but I'm the next building over and I've got water _and_ advil."

"If you don't mind?"

"Let's go."

They leave and Harry replies Liam’s text: _don't wait up for me_. Louis tells Harry on the walk back to his place, "If it'll put you at ease, or if it'll at least get your friends to take some of the pressure off of you, I don't mind if you tell them we had sex. I’ll go along with it."

"Maybe," Harry says. "I'm kind of hoping that if I keep it vague, they'll fill in the gaps on their own. I hate lying."

"That works too. I mean, I don't want to give you the 'they'll accept you either way' speech, but..."

"Oh, I don't doubt that they'll accept me. I'm just afraid they'll judge me. Or look at me like I'm weird. Or feel like they need to adjust their behavior around me and not talk about sex, like I'm a prude or something."

"I'm sure things may be a bit different once you tell them – assuming you do. And it might feel a bit awkward at first. But it needs to be a dialogue. Y'know, if you break it down for them I'm sure they'll respond appropriately."

"I’ll tell them. Eventually, I mean. I just need some time. This is all new to me."

"That's totally okay. It's up to you who you do and don't tell. And when."

There's a beat of silence. They're entering Louis's flat and Harry says, as sincerely as he can, "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Louis turns the living room and kitchen lights on. "My roommate's out for the night, so we don't need to worry about being quiet. You wanna watch some TV and eat some leftover pizza while we sober up a bit?"

"Sure," Harry says. He's exhausted, but he also realizes that he's starving. While the pizza's in the microwave, Louis gets two cups of water and hands one to Harry, who downs it right away and doesn’t hesitate to fill it up again. Louis cocks a brow at him. "I’ll be so mad if I wake up hungover."

Louis laughs. "You’re so diligent. I don’t remember the last time I woke up after a night of drinking without a hangover." The microwave beeps and Louis grabs the pizza and some napkins and he and Harry relocate to the living room. They eat and even though the pizza is still a bit stale, it tastes like heaven to Harry's drunk taste buds. They're watching a rerun of _Fresh Prince_ and as he finishes eating, Harry finds himself tiredly leaning into Louis's side. 

"Hope this isn't weird," he mumbles. 

"Nah," Louis replies. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through Harry's hair as he laughs at one of the jokes on the show and the next thing Harry knows, he's asleep. 

He wakes up only shortly later to Louis gently shaking his shoulder. "Hey," Louis says when he realizes Harry's awake. "You wanna head back to my room? I've got a full size bed that I promise is a thousand times comfier than this sofa."

Harry, still half-asleep, nods and follows Louis to his room. They lay down and without thinking twice about it, Harry burrows into Louis's side, falling asleep immediately.

: :

Harry wakes up the morning after and he's mortified because he absolutely just had a sexless one-night-stand with Louis Tomlinson. Louis's still asleep, his arm draped over Harry's chest and his head buried in Harry’s side. Harry stares at Louis and doesn't know what to do. 

He thinks leaving is the best option and spends at least fifteen minutes slowly sliding out from under Louis's arm, praying he doesn't wake up.

Once Harry’s out of the bed, he immediately leaves and he doesn't think about anything until he gets home, quickly mutters hello to his roommate, and sneaks off to his bedroom. He sits down on his bed and buries his head in his hands. The water definitely helped ease his hangover, which he's thankful for, but he remembers everything from the night before with unfortunate clarity and he's horrified. Before he can overthink it, he sends Louis a text: _sorry again about last night. thank you for letting me stay over_

He hits send, shuts off his phone, and hides it in his desk drawer. 

He forces himself to be productive during the day to avoid over thinking what happened last night. He deep cleans his apartment, needlessly studies for a test he’s got coming up that he already knows he’ll ace. He alphabetizes his bookshelf because he’s that desperate and he even watches some weird foreign movie about robots with his roommate because it’s “cinema gold.”

It’s not until the very end of the day that Harry checks his phone again, and he does so with reluctance. He anticipates a round of texts from Niall, Liam, and Zayn congratulating him and whatnot, and he’s been rehearsing potential responses to those texts all day. That doesn’t concern him as much as his fears about Louis. 

It could be that Louis never replied, or that he replied with no recollection of the night before, or that he replied sounding offput about the whole situation, less generous about Harry’s asexuality when there isn’t alcohol in his bloodstream.

Harry’s pulse is racing as he turns his phone on and he can’t help but feel like he’s the annoying protagonist in some Disney movie where Louis turns out to be the bad guy who spills Harry’s secret to the entire university. His friends will abandon him in the most dramatic way possible, and he’ll be rescued by a fairy godmother or something. Things will probably end with Louis being sent to some weird boarding school in the Alps, and there will certainly be a choreographed dance scene as the credits roll. And it will all be as dramatic and poorly acted as your typical Disney Channel Original.

Harry groans because once his phone has started, it takes a minute for it to connect to the internet and 3G network and begin receiving all the text messages he’s missed. Harry was right about the boys. Liam and Niall, in their group chat, have been _incessant_ about what happened last night. They texted Harry a grainy photo of him and Louis in the kitchen, taking shots. Another of them on the dance floor. Another of the two of them heading to the bedroom. Harry really hates his friends sometimes, but he’d also be lying if he said he didn’t save the images to his phone. 

Zayn has remained silent in the group chat, but he’s texted Harry individually and unobtrusively: _hope it went well hmu if u wanna chat_. Though Harry ignores the group chat, he replies to Zayn immediately, telling him _thanks for asking. i think it went okay. lets definitely catch up at some point_. Harry figures the response leaves room for the kind of a-word discussion that he thought he’d want to avoid for longer. It’s just that, while Zayn may not know about Harry’s asexuality, he seems to pick up on the context clues the quickest. It puts Harry at ease and he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have a friend to talk about this with. A friend that doesn’t make Harry’s stomach constantly swim with butterflies.

Right. Louis. Naturally, Louis’s response to Harry’s text is the last to come in, and Harry doesn’t know if he’s more frustrated by its sincerity or its simplicity. It reads: _thought we agreed there was nothing to apologize for. we should hang again._

Harry groans loudly, but before he has a chance to chicken out, he shoots Louis a quick reply telling him _definitely :)_

He knows he should put his phone away again, because nothing is worse than dwelling, but he’s already returned to his photos app and he keeps skimming through the photos from the previous night. He goes back and forth for at least ten minutes, trying to see if he can spot for himself the spark between him and Louis that everyone else so readily picks up on. He feels compelled to find solid proof. It could be the sly grin on Louis’s face as he watches Harry dance, or the way their arms seem to be touching as they walk to the bedroom. Harry’s not sure what, specifically, it is, but he thinks he might feel it as much as everyone else sees it, and he doesn’t know what to do with that information.

That’s why it almost comes as a relief when Zayn texts back and invites himself over to hang out. He gives Harry maybe 10 minutes warning, which isn’t uncharacteristic of him. He’s probably coming over from Perrie’s or something – she lives nearby. 

While Harry waits for Zayn, he paces his room. “I’m asexual,” he tells himself. Out loud, the words sound out of place. So he says them again. And again. And again, all with the hopes that they become more comfortable, like they belong to him (because they _do_ ). It doesn’t really help as much as he’d hoped, but before he knows it the flat’s buzzer rings and he has to decide whether or not he’s going to follow through with telling Zayn. 

As soon as Zayn arrives, Harry ushers him into the bedroom, since his roommate is watching TV in the living room. Harry sits on his bed and Zayn sits on Harry’s desk chair. Neither one says anything and Harry crosses his legs and keeps checking his phone. Zayn looks a bit worried. Harry’s no actor, so his nerves must be evident. “Something go wrong last night?” Zayn finally asks. 

Harry stares at Zayn. He hoped he’d be able to come out with the kind of self-assurance that people like Louis usually carry themselves with. He fails though, because the steady _I’m asexual_ he’d rehearsed isn’t what he ends up telling Zayn. He ends up rambling. Badly. 

“So, I need to tell you something,” he starts. Zayn nods, pushing him to continue. “Louis and I...last night, we...well. Okay. It’s just that there’s something between us. Or at least I think there is. But we didn’t, like, fuck. And it’s the kind of thing where, if we became a thing, I don’t know that we ever would.”

Zayn looks confused, but he asks calmly, “What do you mean?”

Harry feels like he’s going to crumble into a million pieces because he doesn’t want to have to say it explicitly. He says instead, “With everything that’s happened recently – with Nick and stuff, you know. I’ve done a lot of research and I don’t think that sex is something I’m interested in.” 

“At all?”

“At all.”

“With anyone?” 

Harry nods. “There’s a word for it. Um, asexual. It’s, like, a recognized thing, or whatever.”

For a long moment, Zayn’s expression is difficult to read. He’s looking at Harry, maybe searching for an explanation. Finally, he says, “Okay. That’s okay.”

Harry says, overwhelmingly relieved, “Thanks.”

After another long pause, Zayn’s facial expression shifts to one of recognition. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuck. I’m sorry we’ve been pressuring you as much as we have.”

Immediately, Harry assures Zayn, “You didn’t know any better.” He’s quick to add, “But that’s the other thing. I don’t think I’m ready to tell Liam and Niall just yet. I knew you’d be calm about the whole thing, but every time I picture their reactions, I just…”

“I get it,” Zayn says. “I won’t tell them.” 

“Thanks. And for the time being, I might let them think something actually happened between me and Louis last night. I kind of want them to lay off for a while, you know?”

Zayn nods. He says, “I’ll roll with the story,” and then he asks, “If nothing like _that_ happened, what did you guys end up doing? You said there was something between the two of you?”

“He told me he had a crush on me. I told him I had a crush on him, and then backtracked and told him about all of this. He was the first person I’d told and I was super drunk and I completely freaked, but he took it in stride. I stayed the night at his place. We cuddled. All night. We didn’t screw each other, but I still felt a spark.”

“Does he remember what happened?”

“Yeah.”

“And he was totally cool with everything?”

“I think so. He texted. Wants to hang again.”

Zayn raises his brows and says, “That sounds promising.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I’m gonna try to see where it leads.”

The two stay and talk for a while longer. Zayn prods for as much detail as he can get out of Harry about the night before, but he backs off whenever Harry seems to get uncomfortable. Harry asks Zayn how his night was and he shrugs and admits he doesn’t remember a lot of it, but he thinks he had a good time. Their conversation, for the most part, feels normal – it’s like nothing about their dynamics has fundamentally changed, which comes as a relief to Harry.

When Zayn goes to leave, Harry walks him to the door. Before heading out and without any warning, Zayn pulls Harry into a tight hug. Zayn isn’t huge on showing emotion, so Harry knows how meaningful the gesture is. Zayn says, “I obviously support you no matter what. And you know that Liam and Niall will too.” The words make Harry cling more than he probably should, but it only makes Zayn tighten his grip and start rubbing gentle circles into his back.

As Zayn pulls away, he looks Harry over, frowns, and pulls him in for another quick hug, as if taking precaution. He adds, “Don’t hesitate to text if you wanna talk more.”

Harry nods and says tersely, ignoring the way his eyes are watering up, “I know. Thank you.” 

“I’ll see you later,” Zayn says, opening the door slowly.

Harry waves goodbye as the door shuts. Retreating back to his room, he takes a few deep breaths, feeling overjoyed by how Zayn reacted to his coming out. He thinks about what Zayn said – how Niall and Liam will be just as accepting. Harry has a hard time believing it and he spends the better part of the evening debating the pros and cons of telling them. 

He’s already told two people and decides it’s best he wait a bit before telling anyone else. He feels so genuinely reassured talking to Zayn that he falls asleep early for the first time in ages, suddenly optimistic about the future. 

: :

The weekend comes to an end and Harry is quickly swept up in his academic work, which is a pleasant distraction from the events of his weekend. By Wednesday, he’s so preoccupied with school that it comes as a complete surprise when he receives a message from Louis on Facebook. 

It’s a link to an article, “10 Things You Might Not Know About Asexuality.” It comes with no description, no comment, and Harry is confused. He opens the link and skims the article; it’s all about how aseuxals aren’t broken and live perfectly normal lives and the works. It’s pretty basic, but Harry finds it oddly reassuring, perhaps less because of the content and more because it’s coming from Louis. 

By opening the message, Harry knows Louis has already gotten a read receipt. Harry hates ignoring messages, but he’s so befuddled by the randomness of it that he can’t seem to draft an adequate response – so he just leaves it be. 

It becomes clear that Louis is desperately trying to make a point when, the next day, he Facebook messages another article link about asexuality. This link is a little more academic, talking about the history of asexuality, its role in the LGBTA community, and how it's come to face contemporary erasure and stigma. Without realizing it at first, Harry finds himself entrenched in this article, because the content is _really_ interesting. The ultimate point of the article has to do with normalizing asexuality, and by the time Harry reaches the conclusion, he remembers that this is Louis trying to make a point.

Harry knows Louis is trying to be supportive, but he feels possessive of his asexuality, like it’s _his_ concern and not Louis’s. He doesn’t need affirmation from Louis that being aseuxal is acceptable– he _knows_ it is. He’s done his research. He realizes he must have been a mess the other night, that maybe it sounded like he thought he was broken, or something like that. But he’s _not_ , and he no longer requires that confirmation from Louis.

That said, as much as Harry’s begun adjusting to identifying as asexual, he can’t ignore some of the insecurities that have emerged as a result. The biggest one is the way his chest tightens every time he talks to Louis, the way he gets butterflies and can’t help but bite his lip and look away. Aesthetically, Louis is _golden_ , and he carries himself with the charm and confidence of a fictional prince (albeit a prince with a growing collection of tattoos). Frankly, Harry’s having a hard time ignoring how smitten he is. What he has is a bona fide crush, and not just a fleeting childlike crush that makes him blush and giggle, but a full-blown romantic interest that’s begun to constantly consume his thoughts. 

And it sucks, because he can’t discern if this is reciprocal now that Louis knows Harry is asexual. In fact, Harry stubbornly wishes he could tell Louis the outright truth: _cut it out with the articles and tell me if you want to date or not_. Still, he feels restrained by the genuine concern that Louis may say no. Louis, though being incredibly supportive by sending Harry these articles, may be doing this only as a friend. If only he could Facebook Harry an article about “How to Ask out Non-Aces” or “How to Know If a Person Will Date You (but Not Have Sex).

Harry is staring at his phone, and he knows he can’t ignore this Facebook message, too. Begrudgingly, he shoots Louis a quick response: _thanks! good read. never knew asexuality used to be in the DSM._

Harry heads to his next class and it’s as he’s leaving that his phone buzzes with Louis’s reply: _i didn’t either! do you have class now?_ Weaving through the university’s hallways, he quickly messages Louis saying that he’s got a 2 hour break. Louis’s response is satisfying: _perfect i have a break too and i need to kill time! wanna head to starbucks for some coffee??_

Harry tells him _okay! :)_ and heads over to the Starbucks next to the campus. Louis is already there when he arrives. He’s sitting at one of the tables, but he stands up as he tells Harry, “Hey! I was gonna get you something to drink, but I was afraid I’d fuck up miserably and get you something you hated.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Harry says. He pauses and clarifies, “Well, you didn’t have to hypothetically do that.” 

“I’ll still pay,” Louis replies. “What would you like?”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. Save it for a day when my bank account gets low and I’ve pulled an all-nighter and will die if someone doesn’t buy me a quad vanilla macchiato.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Louis says, approaching the register. He orders his drink (a large iced coffee with extra cream and sugar), pays, and steps out of line while Harry orders himself a tea. 

Once he’s paid and has his drink, he follows Louis to a table and sits down. “I can’t believe you ordered an iced coffee this time of year. I’m shivering just looking at it.”

Louis shrugs. “Hot coffee is for the weak. Not to mention that I run warm.” Harry distinctly remembers this from the second time he spent the night, from the way he seemed to absorb the heat radiating from Louis as he slept. 

He shakes the thought out of his mind and says, “They do blast the heat here, I s’pose. I don’t mind it, though. I’m always cold.” He shivers dramatically as he takes a sip of his tea. 

Immediately, Louis exclaims, “Wait! Was it you that brought a blanket to Finny’s final freshman year?”

Harry cackles. “Yes! I had forgotten about that. It was freezing outside and I had a horrible cold.” 

“Oh my god. And you had a box of tissues on your desk.”

“And went through half of them in the span of an hour. I think the only reason I got an A is because he felt bad for me.” 

“I definitely felt bad for you.” 

Harry thinks back to that day and distinctly remembers thinking that Louis was pissed at him. “You threw a cough drop at me,” he points out.

“You were coughing and you sounded miserable. I was trying to be help!”

“I thought you were trying to shut me up.” 

Louis shakes his head vigorously and says, “No, no. No wonder we didn’t hang out after that! You must’ve thought I was a total dick.” 

“No,” Harry says. “I was just shy.”

“Was?” 

Harry scoffs and jokes, “I’ll have you know, I’m a social butterfly these days. Just recently, I went to two parties.” He adds as an afterthought, “And I only cried at one of them.”

Louis cracks up. “Okay, I stand corrected.”

Their banter feels natural and enjoyable. Louis finishes his coffee, Harry finishes his tea, and they continue talking for a long while. Harry feels disappointed when he realizes he’s got class in ten minutes and needs to leave. He thanks Louis, a bit awkwardly, for Facebooking him those articles and Louis just grins and gives Harry a hug. 

As Harry gets to his class, he feels even more confused about everything than before he met up with Louis and the only thing running through his mind is _fuck_.

: : 

A few weeks pass fairly status quo. Harry meets up with Louis for coffee during their breaks with increasing frequency, and it’s during this time that Harry becomes increasingly infatuated with Louis. He becomes distressed every time he contemplates telling Louis how much of a crush he’s developed on him; he fears that, since Louis’s found out about Harry’s asexuality, the opposite has become the case for him. For the most part, he tries not to think about it and focuses instead on enjoying Louis’s company when they are able to hang out.

As he thinks about telling Louis how he feels, Harry also thinks about telling Liam and Niall the truth. He hasn’t partied with them too much lately, and their perception that he and Louis hooked up has virtually ended their quest to get Harry laid. Things with them are, for lack of a better word, normal, and Harry worries that coming out to them will disrupt that.

Zayn, every now and again, brings it up to Harry, pushing him to tell Liam and Niall the truth. For the first few weeks of this, Harry deflected, insisting it wasn’t the right time. The more time that passed, though, the more credit he began giving Zayn.

It’s finals week and Harry is drowning in stress and he thinks he must be short-circuiting, because it’s on a Thursday night before one of his big exams that he finally corrals Liam and Niall to his flat long enough for him to set the entire story straight. He knows Liam is done with his finals already and that Niall has no intentions of studying either way. 

Zayn comes too, for moral support, and he arrives a half an hour early, just like Harry requested. Harry, though not usually talkative – especially when unprompted – spends twenty minutes straight talking at Zayn. A chunk of the time is spent giving precise instructions on what Zayn should do (“Please stop me from going through with this if you start getting weird vibes.”) and what he shouldn’t do (“Please don’t leave. I don’t care if Perrie has the flat to herself or if someone’s offering you a million free cigarettes to leave – seriously, just _please_.”). Zayn spends the last ten minutes reassuring Harry that things won’t get weird, and that he will not, under any circumstances, leave.

Niall and Liam finally arrive, and Harry is buzzing at first, not sure of how to act. The two of them pick up on this, but Harry’s nerves fade as the movie starts and they fall into their normal routine. 

By the end of the movie, Niall is sprawled out on the couch and Liam is sitting in Harry’s loveseat, next to Zayn. They both look tired; finals have been intense and Harry feels it, too. He’s on the carpet, leaning against the couch, near Niall’s feet, and while he’s half-asleep himself, he pulls himself together long enough to ask, “Guys, before you pass out, can we talk for a few?”

Niall and Liam aren’t full-blown dude-bros in the traditional sense, but they do tend to stray away from emotions and heart-to-hearts in a way that Harry’s never quite understood. Still, they seem to pick up on the strangeness and apparent urgency of Harry’s request. Liam says, “Yeah, of course,” and Niall sits up a bit, enough that it’s clear that Harry’s got his undivided attention.

“So, I need to be totally honest,” Harry starts. He doesn’t see the coming out process as something that gets any easier, despite the fact that he’s got Louis’s and Zayn’s unconditional support on the matter. He still feels his pulse picking up and without meaning to, he begins bracing himself for Liam’s and Niall’s worst-case-scenario reactions. The two of them seem to be waiting for Harry to continue, so after a deep breath, he says, “I’ve been really confused lately by a lot of stuff that’s been happening in my life, and I’ve been keeping it from the both of you, and that’s not fair.” 

“What do you mean?” Liam asks. Niall is fully sitting up now. Harry knows he could stop right now; he could make up some bullshit lie about his parents getting a divorce or something and Niall and Liam would never know any better. It’s the thought of lying to them, even for another day, that pushes Harry to tell the complete truth. He’s sick of the tiptoeing he’s been doing, the unfair situation he’s put everyone in (himself included).

“I’m asexual,” he says. The words still sound weird, but for the first time so far, he doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t ramble, and he says the words like he means them – because he does.

“A what?” Niall asks. Liam’s brows are furrowed. Zayn looks prepared to berate either of the two, should they say something out of line.

“Asexual. I’m not interested in sex.”

“I don’t get it,” Niall says slowly. “It’s _sex_...everyone likes sex.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He feels defensive now. Niall doesn’t sound mad – he sounds genuinely befuddled, but his response still stings. The only thing Harry can muster is, “One percent of the population is asexual. So not everyone likes sex, no.”

Niall leans back into the couch, and he looks like he’s contemplating, trying to come up with a rebuttal. After a moment, he leans forward again and says, “So you and Louis? At the party? Is that when you realized?” Before Harry has a chance to respond, he continues, “He might’a just been bad. No reason to swear sex off because of it.”

“We didn’t have sex,” Harry says.

“What do you mean? You told us you did.” _Now_ Niall sounds pissed.

“No. I told you not to wait up for me. You filled in the blanks on your own.”

Liam, from the loveseat, asks, “So, how do you know? If you haven’t done it with Louis – or anyone, for that matter – how can you be positive?” He doesn’t sound annoyed the way Niall does, which makes Harry feel a bit better.

Still, he takes a deep breath and takes a minute to compose himself before he replies. He knows he shouldn’t have to go into gritty detail for his friends to believe him, but he says nonetheless, “I was in the bathroom with Nick that night and the closer and closer we got to doing anything, the more I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. And every time the thought comes up, I just feel like steering my thoughts in the opposite direction. I have no interest.” He quickly adds, trying to anticipate the next question, “I’ve never felt like I’m missing out.”

Brusquely, Niall asks, “Well, what, were you a–” but he stops mid-sentence, suddenly aware that he’s about to cross a boundary he shouldn’t be crossing.

This makes Harry furious, and he snaps and finishes the question: “–abused? Raped? It’s not like there’s a trigger for this, Jesus. It’s not some psych disorder.” He adds after a moment, a bit calmer, “It’s like any other sexuality. Niall, did you have to have sex with a guy to realize you were straight? And it’s not like you’re straight because of some Oedipal complex you never fully outgrew as a child, or whatever. It’s just how you are. Your preferences.”

Niall looks unconvinced and even angrier. Liam seems to be okay about the entire thing – if anything, he seems genuinely curious. He shoots Niall a look that clearly says _calm the fuck down_ , and then he says, “Okay, so let’s backtrack a little. You and Louis didn’t have sex, but you’ve been hanging out a bunch lately. Is it just as friends?”

“I have a crush on him,” Harry admits.

“Does he know?” Liam asks.

“Yeah. Back at the party, we snuck off together to the bedroom and we admitted to liking each other and all that. But then I just kind of blurted that I’m asexual. We ended up talking for a while, and I stayed over at his place, but we didn’t have sex, no.” He doesn’t mention his breakdown and the fact that he tried to convince Louis to fuck him; he figures it’s for the better.

“And he’s okay with it?”

“As a friend, yeah. I’ve been too scared to ask if he’s still interested, like, romantically or whatever.”

“Like dating but without the sex?” Liam seems like he’s asking out of pure, good-natured curiosity. From the couch, Niall is seething.

“Exactly,” Harry says, feeling relieved that at least one of the two seems to understand. “It would be as intimate as any other relationship would be, just without the sex.”

“Okay. That makes enough sense, I think. Harry, I’m really glad you felt comfortable telling us.” After another moment of contemplation, Liam admits, “Though I wish you’d told us sooner.” Harry’s eyes fall on Niall, who shifts his attention to the floor. He looks livid. Harry purses his lips; he can’t think of anything else he could say that would get Niall to understand.

It’s at this moment that Zayn takes over. He says, “Niall, I’m gonna have a quick smoke if you want one. Let’s go to the balcony.” It’s a thinly veiled order, and Niall doesn’t say anything – he stands up and quietly follows Zayn out the balcony door.

“I don’t know what his deal is,” Liam says as soon as the door shuts. 

Harry lays down on the floor and stretches. With the stress of finals, he hasn’t been to the gym in weeks. Paired with the two hours he sat still for the movie and the tension from their current conversation, his body feels stiff. “I don’t get it either,” he admits. “I understand being upset that I waited to say anything, but I don’t see why that would make him this angry.”

“Maybe he’s confused,” Liam suggests. “I’ve heard of asexuality before, so this isn’t entirely new to me. If Niall’s never heard of it before, it might throw him off. Especially since he’s been trying so hard to find you a guy. Maybe he feels guilty for pressuring you or something.” 

“Maybe.” Harry sounds skeptical and it’s as he lays on the floor, waiting for Niall and Zayn to return, that he feels compelled to reach for his phone and text Louis. He didn’t tell Louis that he was going to do this tonight because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to follow through with it. He also hesitated to say anything because the enthusiasm of Louis’s pep talks is sometimes overwhelming, and he needed to feel composed beforehand – not more worked up than he already was. Now, though, he wishes for a few words of support from Louis, reassurance that he didn’t just fuck something up with Niall.

Liam is still listing off reasons why Niall might be acting the way he is, and Harry is nodding along, but he’s got his phone in his hand and he’s composing potential text messages to Louis. Thankfully, before he has a chance to say anything, Niall and Zayn finally return, the smell of cigarettes following them in. Liam scrunches his nose. “Gross,” he says. Zayn rolls his eyes and Niall punches him in the arm. 

“What the fuck, Harry,” Niall says. “You told Zayn but you didn’t tell us?” Harry is taken aback, not considering how it might upset Niall to know how long Harry put off telling him. Harry bites his lip. “You shouldn’t fuck with Louis,” he adds.

“ _What_?” Harry asks. 

“Have you _seen_ how he is at parties? He fucks anyone that breaths. Do you really think he’s going to swear off sex to date you?”

“Fuck you,” Harry says. He rarely swears at others in earnest, and the words are so sharp that Niall visibly flinches.

“Harry, I’m not–I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t need protected. You should go.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Niall says. He sounds genuinely surprised. 

“Niall,” Harry replies. He nods toward the door because he doesn’t want to have to say it again. 

Niall hesitates, but he stands up slowly, grabs his coat, and leaves without another word.

After he leaves, Liam and Zayn stay a while longer. They’re being protective, hovering longer than necessary to make sure Harry’s okay. The TV’s on and Harry’s half-heartedly paying attention. Zayn’s sitting next to him and he knows by now not to prod. He stays quiet, but he does glance at Harry every few minutes, probably making sure he hasn’t started crying or something. Harry’s not going to cry, but he doesn’t remember the last time he felt this angry. For a long while, he stares at the wall next to the TV and wonders how it would feel to punch it – if it would be as cathartic as the movies make it look. He decides it would probably just break his hand.

Liam is still sitting on the loveseat, and during commercials, he starts talking, working hard to make Harry feel better: Niall’s just confused, he’ll come around, it’s not worth stressing over, he’s just being a dick, you know how he is, please don’t take what he said personally…

Harry doesn’t doubt any of that, but it doesn’t stop Niall’s words from hurting any less. Harry doesn’t really acknowledge what Liam’s saying, until he offers to punch Niall for him. He looks up at Liam and asks, deadpan, “Would you?” He cracks a smile, though, and Liam can’t contain his laughter. Harry says, after a long pause, “I appreciate all of this, but it’s not like there’s anything we can do about it. I think Niall will come around.” He shuts the TV off. “I’m going to go to bed. Were you guys planning on staying the night?”

Zayn’s been ignoring his buzzing phone all evening, and Harry knows it’s Perrie texting him and that her flat is his next destination. Sure enough, Zayn’s the first of the two boys to stand. “I think I’m gonna head out,” he says. 

Liam stands second and says, “I promised the family I’d come visit now that my finals are out of the way.” 

Harry sees Zayn and Liam out, and he goes to his room to get set for bed. He doesn’t know why he even bothers, because he gets in bed and realizes as soon as his head hits his pillow that he’s not going to be able to sleep. Stubborn, he tosses and turns, eventually giving up. He’s replaying the conversation in his mind over and over and he’s not surprised when his phone chimes and he looks over and Zayn has messaged: _hope you’re not too stressed. make sure to get sum sleep x_

 _thanks xx_ , Harry replies, knowing it’ll be a while before he’s able to shake off what’s happened tonight. For as mad as he is about Niall, he’s certainly grateful for Liam’s and Zayn’s support. He tries to focus on that instead and, sure enough, it relaxes him enough that he eventually drifts off.

: :

Harry has his final at 8 the next day and he sleeps through three alarms in the morning. It’s as a fourth alarm is going off that his roommate comes into the room and wakes him up. Seeing the time, Harry quickly rolls out of bed. He skips his shower and throws on the first pair of jeans he finds. He grabs a shirt from his closet that hardly matches, slips on a pair of shoes that he spots in the corner of his closet, and runs out the door.

He quickly comes back to retrieve his backpack, and if he weren’t so grateful that his roommate woke him up, he’d probably flip him off for how hard he’s laughing at the ordeal. Before he leaves for good, he runs to one of their cabinets and grabs a can of Febreeze. He liberally douses his outfit in it, adding laundry to his mental to-do list. He thanks his roommate for waking him up – though he’s still laughing too hard to give a proper response – and bolts out the door.

He makes it to class five minutes late and tries to enter with the casual demeanor of someone who’s used to running late. That fails miserably, and he ends up profusely apologizing to his professor as he sits down at his desk. The professor hands him his test and he’s relieved that he’s studied the material as long as he has; the answers come with ease and, despite being five minutes late, he’s still the first one done.

When he gets out of his test, he’s left with his usual two hour break between classes. Tempted to return home for a power nap, his fatigue has lowered his inhibitions and he decides to take some initiative instead. He grabs his phone and sends Louis a text: _so about that coffee you offered…_

He starts walking to the Starbucks, planning on getting a coffee either way. Still, he lights up when Louis responds, saying he’ll be there in five.

They meet up and Harry relays his request to Louis: a tall vanilla quad macchiato. Louis devilishly orders him a venti, insisting to the cashier that they add lots of whipped cream. Harry tries to protest, insisting such a large dose of caffeine might give him a heart attack. Louis looks Harry up and down, and says, “Trust me. You need it.” 

Harry succumbs and lets Louis pay for the coffee. As they wait for it to be prepared, Louis leans toward Harry and sniffs his shoulder. “Is that lavender?”

“Febreeze. Forgot to do laundry,” Harry admits.

Louis shrugs indifferently. “Smells good.”

The barista hands Harry his drink, and he stops regretting its size after the first sip. “Thank you,” he tells Louis, sitting down at a table. 

Louis sits down across from him. “No problem.” 

Harry decides he’s sticking with this whole initiative thing. He takes another long sip of his drink, ignoring how badly it’s burning his mouth, and says, “So, I told Liam and Niall last night, but it didn’t go as smoothly as I would’ve liked.” 

Louis’s face drops immediately. He asks, dead serious, “It didn’t? Who do I need to go after?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he appreciates the sentiment. “Liam was good about it, but Niall...I don’t know what his deal was. He got super pissed. Started telling me how I’m just confused, how I need to get laid, bullshit like that.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I did the best I could to explain why he was wrong, but he was stubborn. Zayn went outside with him, and I think he tried to explain things too, but Niall came back in and he wouldn’t really lay off. He said some really rude things. I told him to fuck off. Made him leave.” He takes another long sip. “I feel bad.” 

“You feel bad?” Liam asks incredulously. 

“I overreacted. I shouldn’t have told him to fuck off, and I shouldn’t have made him leave. I wasn’t _that_ mad. I just got defensive.”

“You had every right to tell him to fuck off.”

“Maybe,” Harry says. “Doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

“He may just need time to come around.”

“I hope so.”

“Did he say anything else?”

Harry hesitates to respond. He can’t tell Louis what it was that pissed him off the most. He can’t admit that his reaction, less than anger, was the fear that what Niall said about Louis was true. After a long moment, Harry shakes his head. “Not really, no.”

“Okay,” Louis says. “And you know that what he said was bullshit, right?”

“I know.” It’s not a complete lie, Harry figures. He knows that everything about needing to get laid and all that is bullshit. “I’m not, like, upset about what he said as much as the fact that it was coming from _him_. You’d think one of my best friends would put a little more effort into understanding something this important to me.”

“I’m serious. I’ll have a word with him.”

“No,” Harry says immediately. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need protection, you know? I’m going to straighten this all out, I swear.”

Louis nods. “I know you will. In the meantime, if you need to talk it over more or anything, I’m always around.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. He means it, and while talking to Louis has calmed his nerves quite a bit, he still feels restless over Niall’s comments. Now would be a reasonable time to bring it up and get a straight answer out of Louis, but Harry still refrains. 

“You sure you’re good?” Louis asks. He’s smiling, but it’s clear he’s picking up on Harry’s nerves. Harry laughs, a bit awkward.

“Positive. Promise.” 

“Good. Listen, while we’re here, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Have you taken research methods?”

“Yeah, last semester.”

“How’d you fare?”

“Pretty well. A-.” 

Louis is pulling a notebook from his backpack as he asks, “Any chance you can help me with this assignment? I have to write a survey for my final and it’s entirely possible I’ve skipped the last three lectures.” 

It might be his sheepish smile that wins Harry over, or the exaggerated pout that’s forming. Either way, Harry succumbs. “What’s the research question?” he asks. 

“Fuck if I know,” Louis says, shuffling through a stack of papers. “Something about happiness, maybe.” 

Harry waits patiently for Louis to find the assignment sheet, and when they finally get to work, he pushes Louis as much as he can to come up with the survey on his own. Part of it is so Louis actually takes something from the course, but it’s largely so Harry can spend more time with him. Louis spends large amounts of time sorting through pages of notes, insisting he must have _something_ written about operationalization somewhere, though he’s confident they never learned what an ‘indicator’ was in class (“Maybe if you _went_ to class,” Harry teases). 

Harry watches Louis carefully, observing the way he bites his lip, scrunches his brows, and lets out a disgruntled sigh now and again. His face relaxes every time he looks up at Harry, and Harry is delighted by the way Louis beams when they finish.

“You’re a lifesaver, Harry,” Louis says. He checks the time and stands up. Harry checks his phone too, noticing he’s got class in ten minutes. Abruptly, Louis pulls Harry into a hug, squeezing tight and waiting a long moment to let go.

“Let me know if you need anymore help,” Harry says. 

“I’m going to abuse that offer. I think I’ll owe you a lifetime of free coffee by the time we graduate.” Harry lights up at the thought of hanging out with Louis for a couple more years, even if it’s just over coffee and homework.

“Don’t even think about it. But thanks for today’s coffee. And for letting me vent. I really appreciate it.” 

“Any time. I mean it.” Louis smiles and insists on walking Harry to his next final. Harry doesn’t protest; in fact, he feels like he deflates a little once Louis’s finally gone, like something is missing. He chews on his pen as he waits for the class to start, trying to decide when he’s going to tell Louis. 

: :

It’s going to be at a party, he decides. Harry won’t be drunk, because he’s thought long and hard and has decided he hates it. But Louis. Louis will absolutely be drunk. Harry gets home from class and texts Zayn, asking if he’s around to come over. It takes Zayn two hours to reply, and when he does, he asks if it’s cool if he comes over in an hour. Harry is studying for his last final – stats – and doesn’t have anywhere to be, so he tells Zayn okay and tries to get through the next set of equations.

When Zayn finally arrives, Harry pitches his idea. Zayn looks horrified. “You can’t do that,” he says.

“Why not?” Harry asks. “I think it could work.”

“It’s not that it won’t work. It’s just that if he’s drunk, it’s not, like, _fair_. And what if he blacks out and doesn’t remember? You’ll just have to do it all over again.” 

“Only if he says he likes me. If he doesn’t, I never have to mention it again. And he won’t even remember.”

“Don’t you feel like you’re taking the easy way out, just a little? Don’t you want it to be meaningful?” 

Harry shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind that, but mostly I want it to not be stressful.” 

Zayn purses his lips. He says, after a moment, “I’m not going to stop you. But I’m going to strongly caution against it.”

“Duly noted.” Harry pauses, and then he asks, “So...do you know of any parties coming up?”

Zayn scratches his forehead and tilts his head for a moment before he says, “Yeah, actually. Saturday, over at Dave’s.” 

“Any chance you can make sure Louis will be there?” Harry gives Zayn a cheesy grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“Why not ask him yourself?” Harry switches from grinning to pouting. He knows he’s being unnervingly co-dependent right now, but Zayn sighs and he says, “Okay, yeah, I’ll see what I can do.” 

He texts Harry Saturday afternoon: _he’ll be there_

: :

The night of the party, as Harry’s getting ready, his flat’s buzzer rings abruptly. He lets whoever it is in, assuming it must be for his roommate or something. He’s surprised – reasonably, he thinks – when there's a knock at the door and, as he opens it, he sees Niall standing in front of him, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground and looking sheepish.

When Harry doesn’t say anything, he looks up and says, “Hey. Could I come in?” Harry’s a mess, his shirt half-buttoned and his hair still damp, but he opens the door all the way and waves Niall in. 

“I’m still getting ready, if you want to come back to my room,” he says. 

“Sure.” Niall follows Harry back to the bedroom and sits down on his bed. Harry is taking his shirt off because he’s abruptly decided he doesn’t want to wear a button-up. He’s digging through his drawers for something party-appropriate (and clean), but he’s not having much luck. He’s not intentionally ignoring Niall as he does so, but it might come across as though he were. He just doesn’t know what to say that doesn’t start with “fuck you” or end with “go screw yourself.” It’s as he finally uncovers one of his favorite tees that Niall says, “I wanted to apologize.”

Harry feels his body stiffen. He pulls on the shirt, tries to brush off a few of the wrinkles, and turns around to look at Niall. He watches him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“I talked to Zayn,” Niall continues. “Well – Zayn talked to me. I don’t know why I was such a prick about the whole thing. It was it was a lot of news at once, and when you mentioned Louis, I just...I’ve heard rumors, y’know? I’ve heard things about him and I think I got defensive or whatever. I was afraid if you told him that you’re – you know–”

“Asexual,” Harry interrupts.

“Yeah, if you told him that you’re asexual and then tried to ask him out, and he said no, I didn’t want you getting hurt like that. And then I found out you told Zayn but not Liam and I, and I got mad about that, too – although I get why now. I was such a dick.” He pauses and says, “I don’t _care_ that you’re asexual. I mean–I do care, but in a supportive way. I’m not bothered by it. I was just confused, and defensive, and I’ve been such an ass about trying to set you up with different guys, and I felt bad about that too. I really freaked out. Like I said, Zayn explained a lot of it. I think I get it now. Either way, I support you.” 

He’s rambling incessantly and Harry notices that his hands are beginning to shake. Any anger Harry had toward Niall has fizzled out. He takes a deep breath and says, “Get up.” Niall stands, but he looks petrified, like Harry’s about to kick him out again. Instead, Harry walks over and pulls him into a tight hug. “I don’t think you understand how much this means to me.”

Niall clings to Harry and says, “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Apology accepted. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Niall nods into Harry’s shoulder and when Harry pulls away, Niall’s expression has softened and he looks a little less jumpy. Harry glances down at Niall’s hands and feels relieved to see they’ve stopped shaking.

“Zayn said you’re planning on telling Louis you like him tonight.”

“That’s the plan,” Harry says.

Niall smiles. “Good.” Harry looks over and returns the smile. He feels like it’s his turn to start shaking, considering how nervous he is. 

“Nervous?” Niall asks.

“That obvious?”

“Kind of. Listen, though. Louis’s a good guy. If he’s not, like, receptive or whatever, he’ll let you down gently, you know? And considering the fact that you’ve been hanging out together all semester, on top of the fact that he’s already admitted to having a crush on you – I think it’ll go better than you’re expecting.”

Harry’s chewing on his bottom lip as he tries to find a pair of shoes that goes with his outfit. “I hope so,” he says. 

“Wear those black shoes of yours. The pointy toed ones. Those are sharp.” Harry knows exactly what shoes Niall is talking about and he runs out to the living room to grab them. “Are you still planning on getting Louis shitfaced tonight?” Niall shouts. 

“Zayn told you about that?” Harry asks, returning with the shoes. He sits down to put them on and Niall nods.

“Yeah, he mentioned it. You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” Harry says. “But it beats the alternative.” 

As Harry stands back up to grab his jacket, Niall points out the somewhat flawed argument he’s trying to make. “If he’s sloshed, don’t you think he’ll be more blunt about things? What if he ends up being a complete dick about it?”

“With any luck, he won’t remember that. If he says he likes me, I’ll just bring it up again when we’re sober. If he says he doesn’t, he won’t feel guilty about having to reject me and we’ll never have to mention it again. I’m preserving our friendship.”

Niall laughs, as he says, “Okay, but he’s gonna have to be _hammered_ for that. He can pound back shots like there’s no tomorrow.”

Harry shrugs. “I’ll make it happen. Maybe. Anyway, it’s getting late, so let’s get going.” Niall nods and the two of them head out.

: :

Niall seems to be trying to overcompensate tonight, to make up for the last week or so that he’s been entirely ignoring Harry. He walks with Harry over to the party and, once they arrive, doesn’t immediately disappear into the crowd like he usually does. A few people try to pull him away at first, and he exchanges platitudes, but then insists, “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” He doesn’t go out of his way to introduce Harry to everyone, like he normally does. Instead, the two of them stay near the wall. Niall doesn’t tease him for being a wallflower. He just catches up with Harry, asks how classes are going, starts telling an elaborate story about how he ran into their old English prof in the hall the other day.

Harry thinks this is all because Niall senses his jitters – like usual, Louis hasn’t arrived yet. Niall pulls two beers from the bag he brought with him and holds one out to Harry; it feels like a peace offering, and Harry stares at it long and hard before he accepts. He’ll only have one – he doesn’t mind a light buzz the same way he minds the uncontrollable feeling that comes with intoxication. Either way, he’s fairly certain the buzz will wear off before Louis arrives.

He’s not wrong. Louis shows up half an hour later and Harry hasn’t even finished his beer. Louis skims the crowd and as his eyes land on Niall and Harry, they light up. He quickly weaves his way through the crowd, and as he makes his way closer, Niall suddenly announces, “I just spotted the girl from my intro soc class that I’ve had my eyes on all semester – Sophie, you know. I’m gonna go talk to her! Text if you need anything!” He pats Harry on the shoulder, winks, and immediately walks away. This feels like a repeat of the party with Nick, except for the fact that no one snuck a condom into his pocket this time. (Thank god.)

He knew that he’d have to be alone with Louis at some point in the night, but Harry still feels restless as Louis approaches and pulls him into a hug. “How’s it going?” he asks.

“Good, you?”

“I’m doing wonderfully! Were you just talking to Niall?”

“Yeah. He came over tonight out of nowhere and apologized. Seemed sincere.”

“Harry, that’s awesome! I knew he’d come around.” 

Harry nods along to what Louis’s saying and after a moment, he offers Louis his beer. “You want the rest of this?” he asks. “Niall gave it to me but it’s a real dark brew and kind of gross. I don’t want it to go to waste.” (Rather, he would like to see Louis wasted.)

Louis contemplates the bottle, pursing his lips, before he says, “Okay, but only because i’m a sucker for dark brews. I’m not really in much of a drinking mood tonight.”

Harry’s heart sinks into his chest. “Oh,” he says. He doesn’t mean to sound so disappointed, but he’s already thinking about what party he’ll have to go to next to make sure Louis is drunk enough to hear what Harry has to say. Louis catches the shift in Harry’s facial expression and looks at him curiously. “Did something happen?” Harry inquires, trying to tiptoe around Louis's reputation as a party animal. 

Shaking his head, Louis says, “Believe it or not, I don’t get plastered at _every_ party I go to. A lot of them, sure. But I have to be up early tomorrow and I can’t afford the hangover.” Briefly, Harry wonders if this is like the time Louis insisted he was doing laundry before going home for the weekend. He searches Louis’s expression for an indicator that he’s lying, but he’s miserable with that psychology microexpression mumbo-jumbo and he falls short. 

“Not even a shot or two?” Harry offers.

“Determined to get me drunk, are we?”

“No,” Harry says immediately. “I just figured–it’s been a long week–I don’t know. You don’t have to drink.” Louis laughs.

“What about you? Are you drinking anything else tonight?”

Harry shakes his head. “Probably not. Maybe one more beer. Don’t like being super drunk, remember?” 

“Thought you didn’t like parties either, mmm?” It’s a gentle interrogation, but it still makes Harry clench up as he wonders how he can backtrack out of this mess he’s got himself into. It was a bad idea, he realizes; Zayn was totally right. He glances across the room and Niall, who is indeed talking to Sophie, grins over at him and waves. Harry waves back before he focuses his attention on Louis once again.

“Sometimes they aren’t so bad, I dunno,” he says. He doesn’t like lying, and the statement has some truth to it; he doesn’t mind parties as much when he’s got Louis’s company.

“If you don’t want to be here, we don’t have to stay,” Louis says. He finishes the last sip of the beer. “It’s not that late yet. If you’re hungry, there’s a pizza place a block or two over with the best calzones on the planet. We could split one.”

Harry contemplates the suggestion, remembering that he hasn’t eaten since lunch – the butterflies in his stomach had stifled his appetite and he only now realizes that he’s starving. He scans the crowd at the party. The only people he recognizes are Niall and Zayn, who apparently showed up at some point. Zayn, like Niall, waves when he catches Harry’s attention. Harry waves back. The only other person he recognizes is Allison, from his stats class, who’s talking to some random guy. It’s not late, but a large portion of the crowd already seems pretty drunk. The music is this terrible EDM stuff that sounds like it was made by taking a disco ball to a cheese grater. In other words: Harry considers how little he’ll be missing out on if he leaves, smiles, and says, “Let’s go.”

Louis grins and the two of them take to escaping the growing crowd of people dancing. They make it out the door and Louis says, taking a deep breath, “Nothing like air that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and BO.”

“You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” Harry says, not expecting Louis to start quietly humming _Big Yellow Taxi_. For a few minutes, the two of them walk in silence, save for Louis’s occasional humming. 

“I’ve never asked you,” Louis says, interrupting the silence. “What are your plans once you graduate?”

Harry laughs, “Dunno. I’ve never put a whole lot of thought into it. I think I want to travel some and then...who knows. Journalism has always appealed to me, actually. What about you?”

“As it stands, I’m hoping to get into clinical psych.” He shrugs and asks, “If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?”

“Don’t tempt me with a question like that,” Harry says. “Realistically, I’ll probably end up traveling around Europe, but I’d love to get far away. But I think it would be amazing to visit Asia. My sister’s been to Cambodia a few times. Keeps telling me she’ll take me next time she goes. Have you traveled much?”

“I wish,” Louis says. “I went to the States a few years back on a school trip, which was fun. And the family and I have vacationed within Europe here and there – Spain, France, you know – but I agree with you. I’ve always wanted to explore somewhere far away. South America, maybe.” They turn the corner and Louis points at a little mom and pop restaurant to their left. “This is it.” They head in and Harry spends a moment scanning the menu. Louis says, “I really like the pepperoni and cheese calzone. But if you’re in the mood for something else–”

“No, no, that sounds perfect.” The restaurant smells like ecstasy to Harry and his grumbling stomach. Though he tries to refrain, he ends up asking, “You care if we order fries, too? I’m starving.” 

“Not at all. I’m craving mozzarella sticks, though, so let’s get both.”

“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want a pint?” Harry asks. He promises himself it’s the last time he’ll try. If Louis says no, he’ll save the conversation for another time. 

“Really determined,” Louis says. “I’ll pass. Kinda want some coke though, how about you?”

“Sure,” Harry says. 

Having agreed on an order, Louis steps up to the front counter and relays their order to the cashier. The two are joking – they’re using each other’s first names, and with the way they’re laughing it’s clear that Louis must be a regular. The cashier hands Louis a receipt, grabs them a couple of cokes from the fridge and says, “It’s quiet here tonight, so your food shouldn’t take more than fifteen or so minutes.”

“Great, thanks, Michelle,” Louis says, smiling as he grabs the cokes and his receipt.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to pay,” Harry says, his hand reaching for his wallet. He thinks he might have some cash on him to help cover the food.

“Oops,” Louis says. He’s batting Harry’s hand away from his pocket. “You can pay next time.”

“Okay,” Harry says, confident that for as long as he hangs out with Louis, this is going to be a constant battle between the two of them.

They grab a booth and make smalltalk for a few. After five or ten minutes, the cashier brings them their fries and mozzarella sticks. “Your calzone will be out in a few,” she says. 

Harry does his best not to inhale their appetizers, knowing that if he finishes them now, he’ll have no appetite left for his calzone; his eyes are a thousand times bigger than his stomach. Louis chuckles as Harry admits, sheepishly, “I’m _starving_ , okay?”

“Not judging. This is my fifth mozzarella stick.” He pushes the plate toward Harry, who helps himself to another.

When their calzone arrives, they eat in silence for a few minutes before Harry starts talking about music. Louis asks about Harry’s favorite bands, and Harry ends up rambling incessantly about artists Louis admits he’s never heard of. It’s as Harry’s in the middle of talking about that One Time he tried to become a famous singer that Louis suddenly interrupts him.

“Zayn told me,” he says, looking up from his plate.

“What?” Harry asks. He furrows his brows, redirecting his train of thought from music to figuring out what it is that Zayn could have told him. 

“Zayn told me. About your plan.” 

Harry’s heart sinks into his stomach and he doesn’t say anything. He’s holding a slice of the calzone, which he immediately sets down as he says, very quietly, “ _Oh_.” He might actually murder Zayn. He figures this is the moment he’s been dreading – the moment that Louis admits how this will never work out. He pushes his plate away and grabs his jacket from next to him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It was a stupid idea. I just thought–I don’t know what I thought, to be honest. I thought if I told you and you were, like, drunk, a rejection wouldn’t be as awkward.” He’s zipping his jacket as he stands.

“Don’t run off!” Louis exclaims. “C’mon, sit back down. You didn’t let me finish.”

“Really, I–”

“I’m serious.” Harry obliges, but only with the utmost reluctance. He doesn’t take off his jacket, still anticipating that he’ll have to bolt.

“Harry, I told you back at the last party that I like you. I _like_ you. I still mean it.”

“I like you too,” Harry says, groaning. “And that’s the _problem_.”

“How is that a problem?”

Harry shuffles in his seat. He hates having to explain these things. “You know why,” he says. “The whole asexual, no-fucking thing.”

“And?”

Harry stammers. After a moment, he admits, “I really, really like you, but you know better than anyone that I’m never going to wake up one day and decide I can have a perfectly normal relationship with a healthy sex life or whatever. And that’s not fair to you.”

Louis leans toward Harry, who feels himself sinking into the booth, and says, “I know that. I’m okay with that. I realize things will never be completely ‘normal’ if we try this out. But normal is so fucking boring and I just–I like you. Unconditionally. Sex or no sex.” Harry goes to say something, but Louis stops to clarify, “And by that I mean no sex.” Harry rolls his eyes, but it makes him laugh. “Listen, Harry. I am so dead serious about this.” 

Harry thinks he can see the sincerity in Louis’s eyes. He relaxes into the seat. “Okay,” he says. He unzips his jacket, pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath, and repeats, “Yeah, okay. Good. Me too.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, grinning. 

Harry smiles. “I–yeah.” He takes off his jacket. He doesn’t know what else to say so he says, for the millionth time, “God. I _really_ like you.” After a moment he adds, fondly rolling his eyes, “I’m going to kill Zayn.”

“No!” Louis says. “No, no! Were you even planning on saying anything if I hadn’t? Since I wasn’t – and I quote – ’absolutely plastered.’” 

“Is that how he phrased it? It sounds so terrible when you put it that way. No, I wasn't planning on telling you tonight."

"So, if you think about it, Zayn did us a favor."

"If he hadn't told you, you might have actually gotten drunk, though."

"Point," Louis says. "Either way, this worked out."

"Yes," Harry agrees. 

There's long pause during which their cashier brings them free refills and Harry can't stop staring at Louis, who looks so absolutely giddy that it makes his chest flutter. There's a question on Harry's lips that he's dying to ask and he's so, so happy with how things have turned out that he throws caution to the wind. "I know this whole thing isn't something we need to formally consummate," he says, "but can I kiss you?"

Louis looks a bit jarred and he asks, "Because you want to or because you feel like you have to?" 

Harry rolls his eyes and says, as affectionately as he can, "Cut the protective shit. Because I want to."

Louis nods, and Harry leans forward and pecks him on the lips, too quick for it to even count. The cashier, Michelle, coos from the counter. Louis flips her off and leans in for a second kiss, a bit more intense for the first. Louis's lips feel warm and right and Harry hums quietly before Louis pulls away and asks, "Wanna head to my place? You can stay the night."

"Sure," Harry says. He's already piling their empty plates and napkins to throw away. 

They thank Michelle on their way out, and once they're out the door, Louis stops Harry for one more kiss. It's less awkward, since they're no longer leaning across a table to reach each other. Still, the kiss quickly becomes even more intense than their last, and as Louis’s tongue teases against Harry’s lips, his stomach clenches and he pulls back reflexively. 

"Too much?" Louis asks. 

Harry nods, his cheeks burning. "Maybe, yeah. Sorry." 

"Not a problem," Louis says. He pecks Harry on the lips once more and they begin walking. After a moment, Louis tells Harry, "Listen, I need you to promise me something."

"What's that?" Harry asks. As they walk, Louis intertwines his hand with Harry’s. 

"You need to promise me you'll stop doing that thing where you flake out in the morning. I wanna make us breakfast."

Harry's cheeks, already red, turn even hotter as he thinks backs to the occasions he's sneaked out of Louis's flat early to avoid any awkward confrontations. He squeezes Louis's hand and says, "That's an easy promise."

“Good.”

Harry can’t begin to articulate how _right_ it feels being with Louis. They watch TV until late, and when they go to bed, Harry doesn’t have to apologize for cuddling into Louis’s side. They shut the lights off and talk for a while longer, until Harry can’t remember what time it is and Louis’s mumbling so badly that it’s unclear what he’s saying. Louis may have been the first to fall asleep, but Harry is quick to follow.

: :

The next day, Harry and Louis sleep in until eleven, and Harry never acknowledges the fact that Louis never woke up early like he so adamantly insisted he needed to the night before. Once they’re up, Louis sets off cooking a breakfast that’s elaborate, but of the caliber you’d expect from a college student. The pancakes are a little burnt and the eggs are a bit dry, but Harry acts like he’s never tasted anything so delicious in his life. 

“It’s not that good,” Louis insists. “In fact, I’d venture to say it’s shit.”

“It’s _wonderful_ ,” Harry says, forcing down another bite. “Heavenly. I love it.” Louis just rolls his eyes.

Once they’re done eating, Harry insists on helping to clear the plates. His phone has been buzzing all morning – the usual slew of post-party messages from the boys. Harry tells Louis, “So, Niall, Liam, and Zayn are insisting I hang out with them this afternoon. Any chance you want to join?”

“Sure,” Louis says.

“Cool. I know you know Zayn already, but Niall and Liam are cool, too. I’m sure they’ll be excited to formally meet you.”

“Right,” Louis says, drawing out the word. He begins to chew on his bottom lip. “About that…”

“What?” Harry asks, his interest suddenly piqued. He looks up from the sink and over at Louis.

“We should probably be completely honest with each other, yeah?” Louis asks. 

“That wouldn’t hurt.”

Louis’s rubbing his neck with his hand. He looks embarrassed. “So, if I’m being completely honest, it’s possible that I’ve met Niall before. Formally, y’know.”

“When?”

“Yesterday,” Louis says.

“At the party? That doesn’t count.” Harry remembers the party and knows for a fact that Niall was long gone before he had a chance to formally meet Louis.

“Before that.”

“What?”

“Don’t get mad,” Louis immediately says.

“Is there a reason I should be?” 

“Well, no...it’s just that….well, you remember how Zayn told me about you wanting to get me plastered last night and all that?”

“I said drunk, not plastered,” Harry mumbles under his breath. “I’m still going to yell at Zayn. Did he do something else?”

“Maybe?” Louis says. He sighs and continues, “Look. All I know is that Niall showed up at my flat yesterday afternoon and he gave me a lecture.” 

“ _What_?” Harry asks. He sets down the dish sponge and stares at Louis. 

“It’s no big deal. You shouldn’t be mad at him, either. But I think Zayn must have told him, because he showed up and gave me this whole speech about I’d better treat you right, and if I’m gonna let you down to do it gently and blah, blah, blah. Told me how good of a dude you are, how he’ll fuck me up if I fuck with you. The normal protective friend stuff.”

“You weren’t pissed?” Harry asks.

“Of course not. I took it in stride. He really cares about you. I respect that.”

“Jesus.” Harry briefly wonders if this explains why Niall was so eager to apologize to him yesterday; he’s not sure it makes a difference either way, because regardless, Niall’s words seemed sincere.

Louis must already know Harry too well, because he says, “You shouldn’t be mad, either. He was looking out for you. He mentioned how bad he felt about how he reacted when you came out to him. Seemed like some real deal character development.” 

Harry puts the dish he’s holding in the dish rack. He waits a long moment to piece his thoughts together before he responds. “I’m not, like, _mad_ , per se. But what happened last – when you admitted to liking me and all that. That wasn’t because of what Niall said, was it?”

Louis walks over to Harry and wraps an arm around his waist. “Absolutely not. After talking to Zayn, I had every intention of telling you the truth last night. Niall showed up and it was a sweet gesture, but I told him he had nothing to worry about. He apologized for getting defensive, we hugged it out, and he left. Said he was gonna go apologize to you.” 

Harry sighs. “Can’t believe you guys were all conspiring together like that.” It’s some high school nonsense – Zayn telling Louis and then telling Niall who went after Louis who knew all along what shit Harry was about to pull but went with it anyway – but Harry can’t help but feel grateful that things worked out in his favor. Not to mention the fact that his friends, though bizarre sometimes, only want what was best for him. 

“You have to promise you won’t get mad at them,” Louis insists. “They were just looking after you. Take it out on me for telling you, or whatever, but–”

“–I’m not mad. Promise,” Harry says. He pulls Louis into a hug. “This worked out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, burying his face in Harry’s chest. “It did.”

: :

They meet up at Harry’s place and Harry makes a proper lunch that inadvertently puts Louis’s breakfast to shame. Liam shows up first and, though delighted to see that things have worked out between Harry and Louis, he assures Harry that he had absolutely nothing to do with any of it. He sits down at the table and says, “I may have heard about it all secondhand via text, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise.” 

Zayn shows up next, and when Harry opens the door, he pulls him into a tight hug and whispers, “I fucking hate you.” 

The words are too affectionate to be true and Zayn chuckles and hugs Harry back and asks, sounding delighted, “So things worked out?”

Harry pulls away from the hug, points toward the table where Liam and Louis are already engaged in a conversation and says, “You tell me.” Zayn _beams_.

When Niall shows up, Harry’s reaction isn’t much different from his reaction to Zayn. He pulls Niall into a hug and says, “You _dick_.” 

“Love you too, mate,” Niall says. He ruffles Harry’s hair, gives him a gentle kiss on the head and says, “You’re welcome.” 

Harry rolls his eyes because he knows Niall’s talk hardly impacted the trajectory of last night’s events. Still, he thanks Niall as the two of them head over to the dining room table. 

They eat lunch and make conversation and things feel so natural that Harry feels a surge of relief knowing he didn’t put off coming out until later. He’s sitting next to Louis, who grins every time the two of them make eye contact. As usual, Zayn is hungover, Niall is telling exaggerated stories about his escapades with Sophie, Liam is teasing Niall, and Harry himself is cracking horrible puns every chance he gets. Louis himself falls easily into their dynamics, keeping up with their conversation and winning the earnest affection of the boys. 

Harry doesn’t know if he believes in happily ever afters, but this is the closest he’s come in ages. He knows things may not be perfect forever – Niall may still make the offhand comment about how weird it is that Harry and Louis don’t fuck; Louis may be overprotective for a while as the two of them navigate their boundaries; and there’s no doubt that Harry will have to get used to coming out to others. Still, as he enjoys his lunch with everyone, he feels like his future is a promising one.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING! ♥
> 
> I really wanted this fic to capture some of the confusion that arises as a result of asexuality's invisibility. I tried to touch on the potential for ace-spectrum individuals to assume they fall neatly into the hetero/homosexual binary, and the dissonance that they may experience when they realize that they don't.
> 
> Harry's experiences with asexuality are largely inspired by my own and aren't intended to establish any type of norm.


End file.
